When I arrived in Portsmouth last weekend, I was stunned. I opened my bedroom door and there were presents all over my bed, and piled in a box by the bed! I spotted my name on a gift tag, and recognised the hand writing. It didn't occur to me right away that there was no reason for such a big pile of presents all for me... and doesn't some of the wrapping paper look familiar? I'm sorry to say my heart sank as I realised quickly that not only were all the presents not for me, but in fact none of them were. I had seen my name on a gift tag because it was one I had written my bloody self, that was also why I recognised the wrapping paper. The pile of gifts were for my brother and his family.
Christmas Day itself brought a modest selection for me -- which is what I wanted. Oddly, I seem to prefer the buying and giving of gifts to the requesting, so when every year I am asked what I want, I rarely know. This might be the same reason why every year we really struggle to get anything out of my Dad as to what he wants -- but I am learning to pick up on things he wants without him realising. Anyway, this year -- like last year, and the year before that -- I asked for my car insurance paid. I could actually afford to pay it myself, since it comes down in price each year at the moment with no claims and a small car, but it's less monthly expense for me.
I actually cheated a little with opening my gifts. Dune had sent me pressies and I decided rather than put them under the tree, I would instead squirrel them away in my bedroom to open on my own when I got home from the pub on Christmas Eve -- since it would then technically be Christmas Day. Accompanying a parcel from Amazon, Dune had taken brief leave of her senses and also posted me a large box -- all the way from Australia. I had noticed some odd items described on the customs label when I got the box, but had quickly decided not to read it so as not to spoil the surprise. What I did saw seemed so obscure that I thought it was probably a ploy to throw me off. Personally, I like to write the customs labels in French -- since nothing specifies what language they have to be in, and I resent having to describe the contents. Sometimes I feel particularly silly and will write on them something like "une petit lapin" or "un bateau". I should stop giving "Angleterre" as my address to people, since I am told it is causing confusion in post offices around the world.
Anyway, under strict instructions I opened the amazon box first -- and was thrilled to find myself now the proud owner of a Zombie Surival Guide. But what on earth was in the box? I tore into the paper to find a modest box labelled "Jay's Zombie Survival Kit" -- and it does exactly what it says on the tin. The kit contains more or less everything you would need to survive -- from matches and a candle, to bandages, antiseptic cream, a torch and... chocolate biscuits. I have long wondered what a tim-tam was, and now I finally know. They look like a penguin. Their inclusion in the kit shows Dune's wilderness survival skills -- obviously the chocolate would inspire the release of feel-good endorphins into your blood stream. The book survival guide is so detailed and thorough it is frightening -- but Dune and I both belong to a Facebook group that says it all: The hardest part of the zombie apocalypse will be pretending I'm not excited. Incidentally, if anyone has ever wondered what Dune would look like as a zombie hunter, click here.
Christmas Day itself was fairly traditional -- a glass of buck's fizz before breakfast, then the opening of presents when we were all showered and dressed. I have learned from experience now not to buy DVDs for my Dad, even if they are films he says he wants -- he never remembers to watch them. I am sure he hasn't unwrapped the plastic from the ones I got him last year. This year, I bought him only one present: a set of wireless stereo headphones. He'd forgotten about it, but he'd expressed an interest in a pair a couple of months back. My Mum had considered getting him golf lessons, since he'd mentioned having lessons again. Like with most things, he never got around to actually committing to doing it -- so Mum went with my suggestion, and bought him a telescope. I have little doubt that my fascination for space comes from my Dad, and I remember at a young age sitting in the cold of the back garden with him, and looking at Mars through a telescope. He's often longed for that old child's telescope since then, so now he has something so much better. And if he doesn't want to use it, you can bet your ass that I am going to camp out in a tent in my back garden and sit out there half the night.
My brother and his family bought me vouchers for River Island, which I had asked for. I was explaining to a girl at work though, I won't use them for a while -- I want to start going to the gym again first and get back into some kind of shape (other than a round shape), so I can fully appreciate the nice clothes I will buy.
I also made good use of Etsy this year for buying handmade. Among other things, I bought my brother a keyring made by REform (which was originally going to be a birthday present for him a couple of months back), bought my sister in law some Christmas Caress bath soaps made by Beadartandbubbles and Dune received a journal handmade by Bombus -- covered with a map of Australia, to remind her of home and record her musings as she travels next year.
Most of the day was largely uneventful -- my parents went to visit some friends of theirs for a couple of hours before lunch, so I stayed home with the cat and read my book. The cat incidentally received from me a new food bowl -- although plain in appearance was quite deep, which is what counts for him. It means he can fit a lot of food in it (important to a cat) and also means he won't splash milk or cream all over the floor when he gets a bowlful as a treat.
As ever, the day itself was too short -- and I think suggestions I have seen of extending it wouldn't be all bad. I know many people (unlike me) didn't have to work Christmas Eve or Boxing Day and so had more than one day off work, but what I think is that the whole celebration should be extended. Not with more gifts, but with the gift giving being dragged out over three days, and more of a sense of a special occasion on the other two days. It seems otherwise that there is a tremendous build up, all for one day, which is over very quickly -- seems to me all the preparation and excitement would be better served by a 3-day festival of sorts.
And yes, Boxing Day I was back at work -- and let me tell you, I have never seen such an assortment of freaks than I did that day. It seems like a gate was left open somewhere and every weirdo in the world made their way into my shop...
Thursday, 27 December 2007
Monday, 24 December 2007
Technical Difficulties
I am considering making a return to the blogger-hosted comments. I don't know if anyone is having trouble with Haloscan (other than with the comments not appearing if you view single posts), but I've had trouble logging in to Haloscan to validate the comments. Sure, I could take the moderation off, but with Blogger now recognising OpenID it might be time for a change. The only problem will be all the well-thought out and carefully considered comments left on Haloscan becoming invisible -- they won't be lost for good, since they're stored somewhere else. I even have comments from when I was writing on Diary-X, without the posts they correspond to any more.
Other technical difficulties involve the fantastic Mr Firefox. For no discernable reason, Firefox has becoming very tempramental. One day, it worked fine -- the next: nothing. I click my Gmail notifier to open my email, and nothing happens. The busy light clicks and whirrs on my computer, but nothing appears. I click Firefox shortcuts: nothing. I go to the program's folder: and still nothing. Then, when I had resorted to using IE I clicked an external link on one page or another -- and the target opened in Firefox. I have uninstalled and reinstalled Firefox and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't -- yesterday and the day before it was all acting fine, and I was relieved it was behaving. This morning, there's nothing.
The odd thing is, when I hit Ctrl+Alt+Delte the program doesn't appear as running under Applications, but it's right there in Processes, using up memory and making everything else run slowly -- until I end the process. Somewhere, then, in the depths of my computer it's starting -- but nothing is appearing.
In the meantime, I might switch to Opera instead. It does a good enough job of accessing the web on my mobile phone.
Other technical difficulties involve the fantastic Mr Firefox. For no discernable reason, Firefox has becoming very tempramental. One day, it worked fine -- the next: nothing. I click my Gmail notifier to open my email, and nothing happens. The busy light clicks and whirrs on my computer, but nothing appears. I click Firefox shortcuts: nothing. I go to the program's folder: and still nothing. Then, when I had resorted to using IE I clicked an external link on one page or another -- and the target opened in Firefox. I have uninstalled and reinstalled Firefox and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't -- yesterday and the day before it was all acting fine, and I was relieved it was behaving. This morning, there's nothing.
The odd thing is, when I hit Ctrl+Alt+Delte the program doesn't appear as running under Applications, but it's right there in Processes, using up memory and making everything else run slowly -- until I end the process. Somewhere, then, in the depths of my computer it's starting -- but nothing is appearing.
In the meantime, I might switch to Opera instead. It does a good enough job of accessing the web on my mobile phone.
Thursday, 20 December 2007
On the tribulations of book selling
One of the perils of working in a book shop is that almost every day I find one or more books that I really want to read, if not buy. And to remind myself, I make a note on a scrap of paper. Now my desk is littered with scraps of white paper, with cryptic references to books. Some have the full title and author, some have just a title or just an author, some have just the ISBN number. Other notes make reference to books without giving any particular details.
Immediately to hand I can find the following notes:
9780385603102 Danielewski
Seven Daughters of Eve - Sykes, Blink -- Gladwell
Conversation on the Quai Voltaire
9780276441769
Mrs Sparks -- Thames, ackroyd (I'm slightly concerned, this appears to be a note reminding me about a customer... I wonder if I was meant to find that book for her)
My success rate at helping customers is now up where I would like it to be -- generally pretty good, and helped by my constant eagerness to literally run off and find the book for them. Customers give me strange looks as they meet me bounding up the stairs, I usually laugh and apologise for being over-enthusiastic.
One particular customer enquiry continues to bug me. The customer came in enquiring after books by Tony Hawks. A middle-aged lady, I was a little surprised but figured it was probably a gift for a teenage boy. I checked the computer catalogue and told her we had one particular book in Sport. She was confused. I double-checked, but yes, no other results -- and I reassured her, Tony Hawks is a famous skateboarder. She still looked bewildered.
Several days later I happened across this book. There exists a wealth of titles by this best-selling author, all in Travel. I was thinking of Tony Hawk, or maybe that was what she had said his name was when she asked me. If I knew where she lived, I'd probably turn up on her doorstep with everything Tony Hawks has ever written.
I'm trying to think of moments of brilliance I've had, where a customer has been incredibly vague or clueless, and I knew what they wanted -- but I am coming up short. It's fairly common right now for people to come in, looking slightly unsure, and asking about Pullman's "His Dark Materials" trilogy, as if they expect me to say I've never heard of it either. I had to tell one customer this afternoon that Daft Punk wasn't a book -- although he wasn't convinced, since it didn't have "CD" written next to it on his son's list.
Today I also pretended to a customer to have a dog. He was buying a book called something like "The bad dog diaries", and wanting to be friendly I said to him "Haha, that sounds like my dog!". It seems I am less optimistic than the days when I was inventing girlfriends...
I did have a customer who wanted my expert help on a present for her teenage daughter. I must look the helpful, enthusiastic, bookseller I am -- even if I don't think I manage to be the hot bookseller I imagined myself to be at first. Anyway, this customer said her daughter wasn't the trashy literature type, and instead enjoyed things like philosophy. It was a bit vague, but they came to the right person with me rather than some of my colleagues, because I like this sort of thing. After a few moments thought, I went and lead the customer to Jostein Gaarder's Sophie's World. Naturally, that was far too obvious a choice -- because apparently it was already her daughter's favourite book.
This threw me, although there was another of Gaarder's books on the shelf, it didn't seem quite the same. So, although the customer insisted this was fine, I upheld we weren't that busy and my colleagues could handle the tills while I tried to find something that was suitable. Three guesses what I did recommend? Kafka On The Shore. I thought a surrealist novel that references philosophy and Shintoism should at least challenge the kid if nothing else. I'll never find out what she thought of it, I expect -- but that's not really the point.
Immediately to hand I can find the following notes:
My success rate at helping customers is now up where I would like it to be -- generally pretty good, and helped by my constant eagerness to literally run off and find the book for them. Customers give me strange looks as they meet me bounding up the stairs, I usually laugh and apologise for being over-enthusiastic.
One particular customer enquiry continues to bug me. The customer came in enquiring after books by Tony Hawks. A middle-aged lady, I was a little surprised but figured it was probably a gift for a teenage boy. I checked the computer catalogue and told her we had one particular book in Sport. She was confused. I double-checked, but yes, no other results -- and I reassured her, Tony Hawks is a famous skateboarder. She still looked bewildered.
Several days later I happened across this book. There exists a wealth of titles by this best-selling author, all in Travel. I was thinking of Tony Hawk, or maybe that was what she had said his name was when she asked me. If I knew where she lived, I'd probably turn up on her doorstep with everything Tony Hawks has ever written.
I'm trying to think of moments of brilliance I've had, where a customer has been incredibly vague or clueless, and I knew what they wanted -- but I am coming up short. It's fairly common right now for people to come in, looking slightly unsure, and asking about Pullman's "His Dark Materials" trilogy, as if they expect me to say I've never heard of it either. I had to tell one customer this afternoon that Daft Punk wasn't a book -- although he wasn't convinced, since it didn't have "CD" written next to it on his son's list.
Today I also pretended to a customer to have a dog. He was buying a book called something like "The bad dog diaries", and wanting to be friendly I said to him "Haha, that sounds like my dog!". It seems I am less optimistic than the days when I was inventing girlfriends...
I did have a customer who wanted my expert help on a present for her teenage daughter. I must look the helpful, enthusiastic, bookseller I am -- even if I don't think I manage to be the hot bookseller I imagined myself to be at first. Anyway, this customer said her daughter wasn't the trashy literature type, and instead enjoyed things like philosophy. It was a bit vague, but they came to the right person with me rather than some of my colleagues, because I like this sort of thing. After a few moments thought, I went and lead the customer to Jostein Gaarder's Sophie's World. Naturally, that was far too obvious a choice -- because apparently it was already her daughter's favourite book.
This threw me, although there was another of Gaarder's books on the shelf, it didn't seem quite the same. So, although the customer insisted this was fine, I upheld we weren't that busy and my colleagues could handle the tills while I tried to find something that was suitable. Three guesses what I did recommend? Kafka On The Shore. I thought a surrealist novel that references philosophy and Shintoism should at least challenge the kid if nothing else. I'll never find out what she thought of it, I expect -- but that's not really the point.
Monday, 17 December 2007
Semi-Musical Monday
I got a letter from the Student Loan Company today. Curious as to what they wanted (as surely I haven't yet earned enough to make any repayments) I opened it. Being the season of goodwill, it seems they thought they would remind me that I still owe them over nine thousand pounds, and what's more they have charged me almost two hundred and fifty pounds in interest.
In other news, I discovered last week that googling the lyrics to one particular Christmas song was bringing up my blog within the top 5 results. Concerned that somebody I knew might end up here by accident, I have taken that particular post out of circulation and added noindex, nofollow tags to my blog. Now even googling for Arm the Homeless doesn't seem to find me -- so it must be working. Although I like to be widely read, I no longer think that being searchable on Google is a good way of achieving this.
However, should you all want to show your support for this fine blog of mine I have found a website that sells Arm the Homeless stickers. All it needs to complete it is my URL...
And in closing, because the Student Loans people have pissed me off and I can't be arsed to think of a proper post for Musical Monday I include this video, and a link to the blog of the legendary Dave Gorman talking about why he thinks the song is so good and why it should be #1 this Christmas.
In other news, I discovered last week that googling the lyrics to one particular Christmas song was bringing up my blog within the top 5 results. Concerned that somebody I knew might end up here by accident, I have taken that particular post out of circulation and added noindex, nofollow tags to my blog. Now even googling for Arm the Homeless doesn't seem to find me -- so it must be working. Although I like to be widely read, I no longer think that being searchable on Google is a good way of achieving this.
However, should you all want to show your support for this fine blog of mine I have found a website that sells Arm the Homeless stickers. All it needs to complete it is my URL...
And in closing, because the Student Loans people have pissed me off and I can't be arsed to think of a proper post for Musical Monday I include this video, and a link to the blog of the legendary Dave Gorman talking about why he thinks the song is so good and why it should be #1 this Christmas.
Sunday, 16 December 2007
Etsy UK Meet Up
Saturday was once again one of those unplanned, entirely random days that I seem to enjoy so much -- or at least seem to stumble into so often.
It all started on Friday night, when at a loose end for a short while, I thought I'd stick my head into the forums on Etsy and say to people -- I've been buying gifts on Etsy lately and my friends there have complained about not seeing me. I read a couple of pages of the UK team thread, and found a link to the Friday night chat room. The forums and chat rooms on Etsy are why I don't visit as often as I used to now -- you log in and, before you know it, you've lost hours of your life.
In the chat room I picked up on some mentions of a meet up planned for Saturday. I jokingly mentioned crashing the party, and was told there'd be no need, since everyone was welcome. I then started to seriously consider it, and was encouraged -- at great length -- particularly by Miss Bunny, whose work I love. I figured what the hell, it would be a laugh -- and yes, completely random. So I contacted Bunny to ask if I could have her phone number, in case of getting lost or being late. She suggested that we met at Waterloo station and turn up together -- since she was nervous about meeting people. That was it, then -- once I agreed to meet Bunny, I knew I was committed to going as I'd be letting her down if I chickened out.
I had only a very vague idea of who was going to be at this meet, and an even more vague idea of what anyone's real name was or what they looked like. Several Etsy people participate on Flickr in a "Self Portrait Thursday" group, but I couldn't remember who I would be meeting that I'd already seen. I did know in advance though that I was likely to be the only male there, and probably also the youngest attendee -- although even among the UK sellers as a whole I am not the youngest, nor the only male.
I got to Waterloo station before Bunny -- she'd warned me she might be late -- and was in a queue for a cash machine when she called me. Even though she'd told me her real name the night before, I still answered the phone with "Hello, Bunny". We arranged to meet, and then set off together to find wherever it was we were supposed to meet the others. I recognised Miss Bunny from her self-portrait Thursday pictures and she was easy to get along with. We talked about random stuff as we walked along the South Bank -- her dogs, her boyfriend, people that were going to be there -- but it wasn't too long before Bunny admitted that she didn't know any more where we were going. I'd assumed she knew where we going, and she'd assumed where we were going would be obvious when she saw it...
A quick phonecall to her boyfriend at home later she'd got the number for Reform -- whom I think she might have met before. The call started with the words "I'm a lost Bunny!" and apparently the others were laughing at her for being lost, and two of them set off to meet us and take us to the Riverside Terrace cafe.
I was no less nervous when I was introduced to the Etsians already assembled, drinking their coffees and hot chocolates, feeling very self conscious -- although it was clear who I was, I didn't get formal introductions to everyone, and some people I still wasn't even sure who they were online much later in the day and only worked out by a process of elimination. Unfortunately, although people took lots of pictures on the day there isn't one definitive picture of the group.
After sitting around the cafe for a bit, we all tramped off down the South Bank to see the Frost Fair. Frosty is the word for it, Saturday was far too cold a day to be outside for any length of time... Although it was interesting, it was largely a craft fair -- something that seemed a bit redundant to me, as most stalls I saw I thought "I could get that better off someone I know on Etsy". Giving craft to Etsy people is like giving crazy to Britney Spears -- she already has plenty.
Before long it was decided that food was definitely needed, and Bunny suggested the nearby pub. It seemed like a great idea to me -- food, warmth and of course alcohol. About a thousand other people had already had this same idea at the same pub, though, and it was full. But -- haha -- only full inside. There were plenty of benches outside, and we could all share the same table! What's more, the pub had a supply of blankets for people (presumably smokers) to help themselves to. And so we sat, huddled in our blankets, looking like hobos.
After a incredibly cold lunch we wandered further along -- to the Globe Theatre, which was opening for free. This time there really was warmth to be found, although of course the Globe was so packed full of people getting out of the cold that you couldn't actually really take the time to look at anything. It was like a free trial to get you just interested enough to know it would be worth paying money for some other time when it's quiet.
The day ended back in the cafe, where I had a very interesting chat with Tiinateaspoon -- whom I had never heard of before, and was relieved to find the feeling was mutual. Since I only joined Etsy in around October, she has been less active in the forums since then. She was added to my favourite sellers list as soon as I got in, because she's not only a great person but also very talented.
Other highlights of such a random day were everyone talking to Kezz on the phone (who couldn't make it, since she lives in Aberdeen) -- and then remarking how we were surprised she sounded Scottish, but how lovely she is. Also, talking to debsmuddle about local things -- since she lives in a town less than 10 minutes from me, and feeling like this meet-up made up for not going to a Christmas ball at Torture Garden with the First Time Club.
It all started on Friday night, when at a loose end for a short while, I thought I'd stick my head into the forums on Etsy and say to people -- I've been buying gifts on Etsy lately and my friends there have complained about not seeing me. I read a couple of pages of the UK team thread, and found a link to the Friday night chat room. The forums and chat rooms on Etsy are why I don't visit as often as I used to now -- you log in and, before you know it, you've lost hours of your life.
In the chat room I picked up on some mentions of a meet up planned for Saturday. I jokingly mentioned crashing the party, and was told there'd be no need, since everyone was welcome. I then started to seriously consider it, and was encouraged -- at great length -- particularly by Miss Bunny, whose work I love. I figured what the hell, it would be a laugh -- and yes, completely random. So I contacted Bunny to ask if I could have her phone number, in case of getting lost or being late. She suggested that we met at Waterloo station and turn up together -- since she was nervous about meeting people. That was it, then -- once I agreed to meet Bunny, I knew I was committed to going as I'd be letting her down if I chickened out.
I had only a very vague idea of who was going to be at this meet, and an even more vague idea of what anyone's real name was or what they looked like. Several Etsy people participate on Flickr in a "Self Portrait Thursday" group, but I couldn't remember who I would be meeting that I'd already seen. I did know in advance though that I was likely to be the only male there, and probably also the youngest attendee -- although even among the UK sellers as a whole I am not the youngest, nor the only male.
I got to Waterloo station before Bunny -- she'd warned me she might be late -- and was in a queue for a cash machine when she called me. Even though she'd told me her real name the night before, I still answered the phone with "Hello, Bunny". We arranged to meet, and then set off together to find wherever it was we were supposed to meet the others. I recognised Miss Bunny from her self-portrait Thursday pictures and she was easy to get along with. We talked about random stuff as we walked along the South Bank -- her dogs, her boyfriend, people that were going to be there -- but it wasn't too long before Bunny admitted that she didn't know any more where we were going. I'd assumed she knew where we going, and she'd assumed where we were going would be obvious when she saw it...
A quick phonecall to her boyfriend at home later she'd got the number for Reform -- whom I think she might have met before. The call started with the words "I'm a lost Bunny!" and apparently the others were laughing at her for being lost, and two of them set off to meet us and take us to the Riverside Terrace cafe.
I was no less nervous when I was introduced to the Etsians already assembled, drinking their coffees and hot chocolates, feeling very self conscious -- although it was clear who I was, I didn't get formal introductions to everyone, and some people I still wasn't even sure who they were online much later in the day and only worked out by a process of elimination. Unfortunately, although people took lots of pictures on the day there isn't one definitive picture of the group.
After sitting around the cafe for a bit, we all tramped off down the South Bank to see the Frost Fair. Frosty is the word for it, Saturday was far too cold a day to be outside for any length of time... Although it was interesting, it was largely a craft fair -- something that seemed a bit redundant to me, as most stalls I saw I thought "I could get that better off someone I know on Etsy". Giving craft to Etsy people is like giving crazy to Britney Spears -- she already has plenty.
Before long it was decided that food was definitely needed, and Bunny suggested the nearby pub. It seemed like a great idea to me -- food, warmth and of course alcohol. About a thousand other people had already had this same idea at the same pub, though, and it was full. But -- haha -- only full inside. There were plenty of benches outside, and we could all share the same table! What's more, the pub had a supply of blankets for people (presumably smokers) to help themselves to. And so we sat, huddled in our blankets, looking like hobos.
After a incredibly cold lunch we wandered further along -- to the Globe Theatre, which was opening for free. This time there really was warmth to be found, although of course the Globe was so packed full of people getting out of the cold that you couldn't actually really take the time to look at anything. It was like a free trial to get you just interested enough to know it would be worth paying money for some other time when it's quiet.
The day ended back in the cafe, where I had a very interesting chat with Tiinateaspoon -- whom I had never heard of before, and was relieved to find the feeling was mutual. Since I only joined Etsy in around October, she has been less active in the forums since then. She was added to my favourite sellers list as soon as I got in, because she's not only a great person but also very talented.
Other highlights of such a random day were everyone talking to Kezz on the phone (who couldn't make it, since she lives in Aberdeen) -- and then remarking how we were surprised she sounded Scottish, but how lovely she is. Also, talking to debsmuddle about local things -- since she lives in a town less than 10 minutes from me, and feeling like this meet-up made up for not going to a Christmas ball at Torture Garden with the First Time Club.
Thursday, 13 December 2007
On wild-ness
When I was a cultural studies undergraduate, I became fascinated with the American concept of wilderness. I wrote an extended essay about the art of Albert Bierstadt and how it related to the writing of Henry David Thoreau. I'm slightly disappointed now that I didn't keep it, in either paper or electronic form, since it was probably one of the only A's I got in my whole academic career -- but also because I want to refer back to it now to see if it made any reference to the philosopher Spinoza. I read about Spinoza recently in a book called "What's It All About?" which tries to address questions on the meaning of life, and I feel fairly sure that he must have been mentioned in my clases on the wilderness -- although it's difficult to say now how much attention I paid at the time.
What linked Spinoza to Thoreau and Bierstadt was the concept that God didn't just "create" nature, but that God "is" nature. It's very difficult to try and explain in words, directly -- it's a feeling more than anything. For example, Thoreau was all very comfortable (one might say almost smug) about the wilderness when he wrote Walden, but the fact is that he was never really all that far from 'civilisation' -- he didn't really push much outside of his comfort zone.
Albert Bierstadt's paintings can be looked at and appreciated on a very shallow level -- and without having compared them to literature and thought about them I would dismiss them entirely. They're nice and all, but they're just the typical romanticised nature painting -- mountains, rivers, sunsets, all that sort of thing. But if you look at them with the philosophy of Spinoza in mind, you can read the painting on a slightly deeper level. It might not be news-worthy or altogether remarkable, but Bierstadt's use of light -- particular in pictures like Among the Sierra and Yosemite -- and likewise his use of darkness can be interpreted as being symbolic of God's existence not only in the wilderness but as the wilderness.
The rock formations are like the vaulted ceilings of cathedrals, they are designed to draw your eyes upwards and inspire thoughts of heaven -- and in a way the mountains of the west were Bierstadt's cathedrals. I don't know much at all about Bierstadt's beliefs, maybe he was a devout Christian -- one could argue he might have had some quite puritanical ideas, since it would seem that he considered God to be threatening as well as loving. I personally like to consider God in this context in a Spinozan sense, God is the light, and the absolute darkness, and the water, and the mountains, and the elk.
I am agnostic, and as such don't deny the existence of God, just as I don't recognise it either. I am not undecided, I just don't believe it is possible to ever really know -- and perhaps like many things with me, where I sit on the matter can vary. However, when I do consider God, it is in these terms that I consider it -- not as a sentient being, but almost as the sum of all consciousness and existence.
I mentioned Thoreau and Walden at the start -- but where I feel Thoreau really met with the Wilderness in the Bierstadt sense was when he climbed Mount Ktaadn. Here it is both terrifying and overwhelming.
I ended up writing my final year dissertation on the wilderness, but didn't really feature Bierstadt -- instead choosing to focus on Gary Snyder, Edward Abbey, Aldo Leopold and Henry David Thoreau. It frustrates me sometimes thinking back that I didn't do a better job of it, and I also wish that I had the book I have started reading now -- Into the Wild.
In Desert Solitaire, Edward Abbey abandons his trailer to sleep in the open air of Arches National Park -- and he would write at great length about rivers and canyons and all the rest. But what I feel was missing from his work now was a sense of terror, a sense of being overwhelmed by nature -- what Thoreau feels on Mt. Ktaadn, and what Chris McCandless must have felt when he went into the wilds of the Alaskan landscape. While it could be said that McCandless was a bit of an idiot who didn't really grasp the full gravity of what he was doing or how likely he was to die -- he was also part of something much larger.
In some ways, he was trying to work out for himself what it is all about -- like the philosophers and thinkers before him. To my knowledge, at least Kerouac and Snyder out of the Beats both spent time living an almost entirely solitary existence in the wilderness at one time or another -- and like Abbey, skirted on the edges of madness. And in many ways I respect someone who is willing to take the risk and go out into the wild -- even if like Chris McCandless they don't make it back again.
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
On confidence, people and life or something resembling it
I'm still sulking about the whole Claire business. It's difficult to explain, because it's totally not about her -- instead I'm having a High Fidelity "what does it all mean?" sort of reaction, and trying to figure why past friendships/relationships/romantic interests haven't worked out. Trying to see what the common link is to either not being good enough, or as good as the someone else there inevitably ends up being. Sometimes I can perhaps put it down to geography, or maybe not showing enough interest -- or of having those count against me when there are people who have geography and showing enough interest on their side. Anyway, that's sort of buzzing around in my head at the moment.
I invited all my friends over on Friday night, and aside from Jon and Calvin, they all decided they would rather go to the pub than See me. Almost without exception nobody told me they were going to the pub, several people made excuses for why they weren't out (when really they did go out), and nobody thought to say to me "we're going to the pub, would you like to join us?".
Yesterday I had what felt like a shit day at work. Everyone just seemed mean. Maybe not the customers individually, although in any customer-facing role the public are generally going to be characterised by being wankers. But also my colleagues all seemed like they were being mean to me, or mean and bitchy in general. The highlights of yesterday were driving to and from work -- because this week I have decided not to take the bus every day, but instead drive part of the way and catch the "park and ride" shuttle bus. This is good because it's marginally cheaper, and much faster -- it also means I don't fall asleep on the bus (because the bus journey is now only about 10 mins) and that I can listen to music in the car.
I still count driving and listening to music as one of my simple pleasures in life, which is part of why I enjoying volunteering when I'm out delivering meals -- I get to drive about, listen to my music, and often meet new and interesting people whom I squirrel away in my imagination to reuse them or their stories in fiction sometime.
Today in work was much better. This afternoon at least I was in a good mood perhaps in part due to a cherry coke at lunch, but also because I had inane conversation with my colleague Tim. Tim isn't someone who I'd probably invite out with my friends, he isn't even someone I look forward to working with -- but he's a nice enough guy, and genuine with it. I think some people take him the wrong way, but I can relate -- sometimes people don't get your sense of humour. I just like the easy conversation with him, like talking about scrabble or monopoly, or when I call him names -- nicknames I gave him today included Tim-Tim the Dog Faced Boy (which I have to use in full), just "Tim-Tim" because it sounds like Tintin which also amuses me, and variations on Chewbacca, or just doing Chewbacca impressions when he yawned.
I tried to make conversation with my colleague Zowie (pronounced as Zoe, not like Bowie) although I'm not sure she likes me, it didn't much get off the ground. I asked her what she was doing tonight -- it's almost as bad as talking about the weather, but at least I'm trying to talk to her, which is progress with me. She mentioned she had a sign-language class. I said I was impressed, which knowing girls could have been taken the wrong way -- as in she might have taken it as "I didn't think you were smart enough" rather than literally I just think it's good. She followed it up by telling me she is also learning Chinese. I didn't like her tone of voice, but was going to continue to ask her about (by asking Cantonese or Mandarin, for example), but didn't get the chance. Shortly after she announced she was going back to work upstairs. I said to Tim I don't think she likes me.
Another person I don't think likes me very much is Heather. I don't know why, but I expect she finds it difficult with me -- since I'm not very talkative, and I don't get the impression she is very talkative with people she doesn't know. I also think her people skills need work, like if she has to tell me how to do something or ask me to do something in a different way then I personally think she could try using a tone of voice that doesn't sound irritated. Either way, most days she and I barely talk since there's mostly someone easier for her to talk to. This evening, I actually initiated and maintained a pleasant conversation with her. Again, just asking her if she was out tonight -- no, she said. Why not, I said, you have the day off tomorrow? But she told me how tomorrow she is going to London with her family for dinner and a show, and we talked random stuff like that, until it was time to go home. Even though we both finish at the same time, she just announced it was time and left -- while I found our colleague we were working with, and told her I was finishing and discussed if we'd need someone to take my place.
Anyway, what work has shown me today was begrudgingly maybe my therapist has a point. I tell him I don't feel I am confident enough or outgoing enough, and he tells me to just try acting it. Try practising it. Put on the appearance of a confident person, or in this case an outgoing person. If I make the effort to try to be outgoing it becomes easier and I do reap the rewards from it. In a sense, it's what I did in PR or as a journalist -- I'd have to be on the phone talking to strangers, and there was no sense in being myself, as that wouldn't get the job done. So I had to put on the personality of a confident person.
Perhaps similarly, despite feeling thoroughly and consistently rejected, I started writing and replying to personal ads online again. I'm not looking for a relationship, really, just some fun dates or the chance to meet new and interesting people. Of course, I continue to be met with almost zero success -- but it's the doing it that counts more than a measurable result.
My writing of ads has shown me a few things -- that apparently girls don't think the planetarium would make a very good date venue, that references to songs should be avoided and describing things like seeing your breath in the air between your faces before you kiss might sound poetic, but will get fewer responses than "optimist seeks 20-something nymphomaniac who owns a brewery with an open minded twin sister".
I invited all my friends over on Friday night, and aside from Jon and Calvin, they all decided they would rather go to the pub than See me. Almost without exception nobody told me they were going to the pub, several people made excuses for why they weren't out (when really they did go out), and nobody thought to say to me "we're going to the pub, would you like to join us?".
Yesterday I had what felt like a shit day at work. Everyone just seemed mean. Maybe not the customers individually, although in any customer-facing role the public are generally going to be characterised by being wankers. But also my colleagues all seemed like they were being mean to me, or mean and bitchy in general. The highlights of yesterday were driving to and from work -- because this week I have decided not to take the bus every day, but instead drive part of the way and catch the "park and ride" shuttle bus. This is good because it's marginally cheaper, and much faster -- it also means I don't fall asleep on the bus (because the bus journey is now only about 10 mins) and that I can listen to music in the car.
I still count driving and listening to music as one of my simple pleasures in life, which is part of why I enjoying volunteering when I'm out delivering meals -- I get to drive about, listen to my music, and often meet new and interesting people whom I squirrel away in my imagination to reuse them or their stories in fiction sometime.
Today in work was much better. This afternoon at least I was in a good mood perhaps in part due to a cherry coke at lunch, but also because I had inane conversation with my colleague Tim. Tim isn't someone who I'd probably invite out with my friends, he isn't even someone I look forward to working with -- but he's a nice enough guy, and genuine with it. I think some people take him the wrong way, but I can relate -- sometimes people don't get your sense of humour. I just like the easy conversation with him, like talking about scrabble or monopoly, or when I call him names -- nicknames I gave him today included Tim-Tim the Dog Faced Boy (which I have to use in full), just "Tim-Tim" because it sounds like Tintin which also amuses me, and variations on Chewbacca, or just doing Chewbacca impressions when he yawned.
I tried to make conversation with my colleague Zowie (pronounced as Zoe, not like Bowie) although I'm not sure she likes me, it didn't much get off the ground. I asked her what she was doing tonight -- it's almost as bad as talking about the weather, but at least I'm trying to talk to her, which is progress with me. She mentioned she had a sign-language class. I said I was impressed, which knowing girls could have been taken the wrong way -- as in she might have taken it as "I didn't think you were smart enough" rather than literally I just think it's good. She followed it up by telling me she is also learning Chinese. I didn't like her tone of voice, but was going to continue to ask her about (by asking Cantonese or Mandarin, for example), but didn't get the chance. Shortly after she announced she was going back to work upstairs. I said to Tim I don't think she likes me.
Another person I don't think likes me very much is Heather. I don't know why, but I expect she finds it difficult with me -- since I'm not very talkative, and I don't get the impression she is very talkative with people she doesn't know. I also think her people skills need work, like if she has to tell me how to do something or ask me to do something in a different way then I personally think she could try using a tone of voice that doesn't sound irritated. Either way, most days she and I barely talk since there's mostly someone easier for her to talk to. This evening, I actually initiated and maintained a pleasant conversation with her. Again, just asking her if she was out tonight -- no, she said. Why not, I said, you have the day off tomorrow? But she told me how tomorrow she is going to London with her family for dinner and a show, and we talked random stuff like that, until it was time to go home. Even though we both finish at the same time, she just announced it was time and left -- while I found our colleague we were working with, and told her I was finishing and discussed if we'd need someone to take my place.
Anyway, what work has shown me today was begrudgingly maybe my therapist has a point. I tell him I don't feel I am confident enough or outgoing enough, and he tells me to just try acting it. Try practising it. Put on the appearance of a confident person, or in this case an outgoing person. If I make the effort to try to be outgoing it becomes easier and I do reap the rewards from it. In a sense, it's what I did in PR or as a journalist -- I'd have to be on the phone talking to strangers, and there was no sense in being myself, as that wouldn't get the job done. So I had to put on the personality of a confident person.
Perhaps similarly, despite feeling thoroughly and consistently rejected, I started writing and replying to personal ads online again. I'm not looking for a relationship, really, just some fun dates or the chance to meet new and interesting people. Of course, I continue to be met with almost zero success -- but it's the doing it that counts more than a measurable result.
My writing of ads has shown me a few things -- that apparently girls don't think the planetarium would make a very good date venue, that references to songs should be avoided and describing things like seeing your breath in the air between your faces before you kiss might sound poetic, but will get fewer responses than "optimist seeks 20-something nymphomaniac who owns a brewery with an open minded twin sister".
Friday, 7 December 2007
If you want me, I'll be sleeping in
"Can I be awful about tomorrow and uninvite you? Not being an arsehole, but I've not been very well this week and my brother has just turned up to surprise me from Canada so I wanted to change it to close friends as I'm not feeling up for a big party anymore. Hope you're not insulted mate. Sorry"
And with that one message Claire officially uninvited me from her birthday party.
Do I buy any of that bullshit about not feeling well and her brother's "surprise" visit from Canada? Of course I bloody don't. She used the family thing for why she couldn't go the Sex Pistols, without realising I would remember her family were in Canada. I have been fair, I have been reasonable. I didn't make a fuss that she rejected me -- after all, she probably wanted some tall, handsome guy with long hair and the chiselled abs and all the rest. I have some vague recollection from the night we got drunk together of her seeing a guy like that and lusting after him. Nobody can hold that against her, she wasn't interested in me, I was fine with that. Maybe trying to kiss her was a bad idea, but I don't regret it -- I want to be the kind of guy that tries to kiss a girl because he wants to, without worrying if she'll reject him or over thinking it. It didn't work out, no big deal. At least I thought no big deal.
I said recently that Claire had turned down two invitations or opportunities to see me, and that I wouldn't bother again -- I would wait instead for her to show some willing. I really thought she had, with the invitation to her birthday. I was looking forward to it, especially as I regretted not being able to go to her Hallowe'en party.
But fuck her. I won't text her again, I won't bother to text her anything again -- not even a "hi, how you doing?". I don't fucking care how she's doing.
I carefully considered my reply. I contemplated giving it oh no, and I even bought you a present, but decided that was far too passive-aggressive. What exactly would I achieve by making her feel guilty? She'd probably only resent me, and I don't think she likes me very much as it is. I thought about bawling her out, telling her fuck you -- I thought we were friends, I don't believe this stories you tell me and I really don't appreciate that you think I'm stupid enough or enough of a sap to just swallow them.
But again, that wouldn't be very helpful, either.
So I just told her that, yeah, I was offended actually, but I understood. I didn't say what I understood (I understand that for whatever reason, despite inviting me in the first bloody place, she doesn't want me there) and for some unknown reason I didn't get paid today, so maybe it was for the best. She called me "mate" a few more times and thanked me for understanding. Screw that.
However it might seem, this is not about being rejected by a girl. It's not that I fancied her for a while -- the crush barely had the time to get off the ground, and when I stopped thinking about it, it just quietly stopped burning. What has actually upset me is being rejected generally. It's like with that stupid electro girl who dumped me before I even took her on a date -- before I was even in any way romantically interested in her.
This just makes me feel like I can't seem to manage to have a successful relationship -- not just in the romantic sense, but I can't seem to get some kind of friendship off the ground. Sure, like I say, maybe it was wrong to try and kiss her -- maybe we could have been great mates if I had never shown any kind of attraction to her, but fuck that. If she had any kind of respect for me, she should have been able to get over it.
This is not a "girls are evil" post, or even a "people are unreliable" post. Yes, people will always let you down and disappoint you, that's because we are all human and all fallible. This is just feeling sick of being rejected and not wanting to even bother with people any more.
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
My new favourite website
Free Rice
The concept of the site is quite simple: you have to choose the correct definition for each word as it is shown to you. If you get the question right, 20 grains of rice is donated through the United Nations to help end world hunger. The rice is paid for by advertising revenue through the website -- so you can improve your vocabulary, and do some small good in the world.
The concept of the site is quite simple: you have to choose the correct definition for each word as it is shown to you. If you get the question right, 20 grains of rice is donated through the United Nations to help end world hunger. The rice is paid for by advertising revenue through the website -- so you can improve your vocabulary, and do some small good in the world.
The Evil Compass
I hadn't even realised there was any outrage over The Golden Compass until the other day I was on Snopes, checking out what was new in the world of internet hoaxes and urban legends. On the site, there was examples of two separate emails currently doing the rounds -- warning parents of the dangers of the forthcoming film, based on Philip Pullman's first novel in the His Dark Materials trilogy.
In Britain, at least, the first book was called Northern Lights, but I understand overseas it was called The Golden Compass, after the altheiometer which features in all three novels. If you've not read them, you won't know what an altheiometer is, but that doesn't really matter -- it looks a bit like a golden compass, and fits in with the subsequent books being named after important objects in the plot: The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass.
I mentioned the subject of these emails was to warn parents, and in a similar way to with the Harry Potter books, it's because they are apparently anti-Christian. The books may be aimed at teens, but I'd not really thought too deeply into the messages they contained.
I was actually a little surprised that there was no claims that "His Dark Materials" was a reference to the devil, or that the books contained evil magic or heretical ideas (like parallel universes). Instead, they focus on that Philip Pullman is either an atheist or agnostic. Clearly, he must also hate freedom, want to corrupt our children and tortures small animals -- because that what atheists do.
The emails also claim that Pullman intends his books to be the antithesis of C.S. Lewis' clumsy and overtly Christian Narnia series.
I'm slightly disappointed they don't go so far as to accuse him of being satanic, nor attributing wild and hilarious quotes like the ludicrous invented J. K. Rowling quote about Jesus sucking Satan's cock.
The kind of moral outrage and religious panic that these emails embody is rare to England -- and usually reserved for immigrants, refugees, Muslims and video games, all those sorts of evils that will destroy our society and corrupt our children and possibly even steal our jobs and eat our pets. I think, for the most part, even the likes of the Daily Mail will probably be unconcerned about it -- and I'm half tempted to at least try and stir up some. Not that Pullman needs the publicity, last time I checked Northern Lights was currently the best selling paperback in the country.
But really, what this all comes down to for me is that I wholeheartedly approve of the themes behind Pullman's novels. While they are not the rabid anti-Christian rants some would have us believe, they do make a case against organised religion. Although there is no evidence to suggest Pullman has ever said as much, if they are intended as the opposite of Narnia, I couldn't be happier. If it is okay to expose children to one viewpoint, it is not only okay but important to expose them to counter-views.
I personally have described myself as both atheist and agnostic, although I lean more towards agnosticism since I don't believe one can ever know for certain and like the Nietzschean perspective that we can't ever know if God exists because by very definition the nature of God would be impossible for us to comprehend. I would not want my children growing up into young adults and adults believing in something without having questioned it, or held it up to scrutiny. I would be more upset about films with overtly religious messages wanting to brainwash our children than I would about questioning authority.
The first email describes Pullman as "a proud atheist who belongs to secular humanist societies" -- and I'm wondering why this is somehow a bad thing? I actively welcome someone who is openly agnostic or atheist -- too often people look down their noses at agnosticism as being a kind of wishy-washy inability to commit, or atheism as a lack of values. I would encourage more fiction -- or popular entertainment, or whatever you want to call it -- with counter-arguments to these ideas.
I think the last reviewer puts it best when they reason "[Pullman's] fundamental objection is to ideological tyranny" -- perhaps the kind of ideological tyranny perhaps that is outraged at a differing viewpoint?
And for anyone who has read and enjoyed the books, go here and follow the daemon link to find out what yours what be. Mine is apparently a snow leopard, which isn't bad -- I was worried at first it might be a woodlouse.
In Britain, at least, the first book was called Northern Lights, but I understand overseas it was called The Golden Compass, after the altheiometer which features in all three novels. If you've not read them, you won't know what an altheiometer is, but that doesn't really matter -- it looks a bit like a golden compass, and fits in with the subsequent books being named after important objects in the plot: The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass.
I mentioned the subject of these emails was to warn parents, and in a similar way to with the Harry Potter books, it's because they are apparently anti-Christian. The books may be aimed at teens, but I'd not really thought too deeply into the messages they contained.
I was actually a little surprised that there was no claims that "His Dark Materials" was a reference to the devil, or that the books contained evil magic or heretical ideas (like parallel universes). Instead, they focus on that Philip Pullman is either an atheist or agnostic. Clearly, he must also hate freedom, want to corrupt our children and tortures small animals -- because that what atheists do.
The emails also claim that Pullman intends his books to be the antithesis of C.S. Lewis' clumsy and overtly Christian Narnia series.
I'm slightly disappointed they don't go so far as to accuse him of being satanic, nor attributing wild and hilarious quotes like the ludicrous invented J. K. Rowling quote about Jesus sucking Satan's cock.
The kind of moral outrage and religious panic that these emails embody is rare to England -- and usually reserved for immigrants, refugees, Muslims and video games, all those sorts of evils that will destroy our society and corrupt our children and possibly even steal our jobs and eat our pets. I think, for the most part, even the likes of the Daily Mail will probably be unconcerned about it -- and I'm half tempted to at least try and stir up some. Not that Pullman needs the publicity, last time I checked Northern Lights was currently the best selling paperback in the country.
But really, what this all comes down to for me is that I wholeheartedly approve of the themes behind Pullman's novels. While they are not the rabid anti-Christian rants some would have us believe, they do make a case against organised religion. Although there is no evidence to suggest Pullman has ever said as much, if they are intended as the opposite of Narnia, I couldn't be happier. If it is okay to expose children to one viewpoint, it is not only okay but important to expose them to counter-views.
I personally have described myself as both atheist and agnostic, although I lean more towards agnosticism since I don't believe one can ever know for certain and like the Nietzschean perspective that we can't ever know if God exists because by very definition the nature of God would be impossible for us to comprehend. I would not want my children growing up into young adults and adults believing in something without having questioned it, or held it up to scrutiny. I would be more upset about films with overtly religious messages wanting to brainwash our children than I would about questioning authority.
The first email describes Pullman as "a proud atheist who belongs to secular humanist societies" -- and I'm wondering why this is somehow a bad thing? I actively welcome someone who is openly agnostic or atheist -- too often people look down their noses at agnosticism as being a kind of wishy-washy inability to commit, or atheism as a lack of values. I would encourage more fiction -- or popular entertainment, or whatever you want to call it -- with counter-arguments to these ideas.
I think the last reviewer puts it best when they reason "[Pullman's] fundamental objection is to ideological tyranny" -- perhaps the kind of ideological tyranny perhaps that is outraged at a differing viewpoint?
And for anyone who has read and enjoyed the books, go here and follow the daemon link to find out what yours what be. Mine is apparently a snow leopard, which isn't bad -- I was worried at first it might be a woodlouse.
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
Perils of gift-buying
It's Claire's 30th birthday this Saturday, and I have dutifully been invited to a joint party for her and her friend. I'd previously decided to stop inviting her to do anything, since my last two invites had been refused -- she wouldn't go to the Sex Pistols, but her reasons why seemed very vague. I'd have appreciated blunt honesty more. Then I asked her if she wanted to go ice skating sometime, and she said that she didn't like skating but either way she had a boyfriend now and would be going with him and his niece. Like I say, I figured she could invite me out sometime if she wanted to see me -- I'm not so desperate for her attentions.
Officially, it was her birthday a couple of days ago but either way the party is this weekend -- and since I wasn't able to go to her Halowe'en party, I want to make this one. Even if I do have to work this Sunday.
A thought suddenly struck me today, however. No, not the "how the hell am I going to get home" thought, that has not yet quite been worked out. But instead what might seem glaringly obvious to everyone else: I should take a birthday present!
What the hell do I get her? What do you get a girl you met randomly at a punk gig, thought there might be something between you, got exceedingly drunk with, tried to kiss and were rejected by? Do they have special cards for that kind of relationship?
Working in a bookshop, naturally that was my first thought. But I hardly know her, and have no idea if she even likes to read. What would a girl like her enjoy? Fiction? True crime? Would she enjoy The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rand, about how she knew and worked with Ted Bundy? Maybe not, some girls get funny if you buy them books about serial killers. Maybe she'd like a book on Estuary English, explaining phrases like "nart" -- as in "Have a nart, Trace, I only been out of prison a week" -- and "narra", as in "We had a narra escape there, Gary, I thought Mum was gonna come round on the way back from Budgens".
I thought I had a brilliant idea, of buying her the book Punk 365, which I'd written a recommendation for in store sometime last week -- but I figured it was more money than I wanted to spend on her, and besides she turned down a chance to see the Sex Pistols, what kind of a punk fan is she?
I know she likes cats -- or, at least, her cat -- so I considered books like What Pets Do When You're At Work, or Pets With Tourette's, but it just seemed too novelty. I tried to think of books I love and mean something to me, but again I return to not knowing her that well -- and not really caring that much.
It might be too late, but I'm hitting Etsy this evening to try and get her something unique and handmade. It would be too vain to give anyone one of my own prints as a gift, but I know some sellers with fantastic items that I just want an excuse to buy...
Officially, it was her birthday a couple of days ago but either way the party is this weekend -- and since I wasn't able to go to her Halowe'en party, I want to make this one. Even if I do have to work this Sunday.
A thought suddenly struck me today, however. No, not the "how the hell am I going to get home" thought, that has not yet quite been worked out. But instead what might seem glaringly obvious to everyone else: I should take a birthday present!
What the hell do I get her? What do you get a girl you met randomly at a punk gig, thought there might be something between you, got exceedingly drunk with, tried to kiss and were rejected by? Do they have special cards for that kind of relationship?
Working in a bookshop, naturally that was my first thought. But I hardly know her, and have no idea if she even likes to read. What would a girl like her enjoy? Fiction? True crime? Would she enjoy The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rand, about how she knew and worked with Ted Bundy? Maybe not, some girls get funny if you buy them books about serial killers. Maybe she'd like a book on Estuary English, explaining phrases like "nart" -- as in "Have a nart, Trace, I only been out of prison a week" -- and "narra", as in "We had a narra escape there, Gary, I thought Mum was gonna come round on the way back from Budgens".
I thought I had a brilliant idea, of buying her the book Punk 365, which I'd written a recommendation for in store sometime last week -- but I figured it was more money than I wanted to spend on her, and besides she turned down a chance to see the Sex Pistols, what kind of a punk fan is she?
I know she likes cats -- or, at least, her cat -- so I considered books like What Pets Do When You're At Work, or Pets With Tourette's, but it just seemed too novelty. I tried to think of books I love and mean something to me, but again I return to not knowing her that well -- and not really caring that much.
It might be too late, but I'm hitting Etsy this evening to try and get her something unique and handmade. It would be too vain to give anyone one of my own prints as a gift, but I know some sellers with fantastic items that I just want an excuse to buy...
Monday, 3 December 2007
Musical Monday #30
Folks who are regular readers way over at What Goes Up... will have caught the recent post on cover versions. It's come to a point where if I don't write my own post about covers then I'm just going to spend all day spamming the comments and eventually get myself blocked.Covers can be amazing, or they can be awful. They can make an artist, or they can be a source of ridicule and derision. Radio 1's "Live Lounge" has whole albums of artists performing covers live, and they are surprising and addictive and inspiring and sometimes just plain awful. Arctic Monkeys covering Girls Aloud was described by Jo Whiley as "band on band action" and is reminiscent of the time Travis were live (and drunk) on Mark Radcliffe's show and played "Hit Me Baby, One More Time" -- following which they had to actually learn to play the song properly, since it became so hotly requested. To my mind, no later performance was ever as good -- the original was spontaneous and fun, later it just sounded whiny, like so much of Travis' work.
Jojo is an artist that for the most part I try to ignore. Her music is unremarkable and appeals to an audience the clearly isn't me. However, her unexpected cover of the Foo Fighters' "Times Like These" is fantastic, and she obviously has an incredible pair of lungs on her. And I don't mean in a pervy way.
Velvet Revolver are a great band for covers -- combining the talented ones out of Guns N' Roses with Scott Weiland means you get to hear old-school GNR songs sung by someone with a good voice, and old Stone Temple Pilot songs. In a similar manner, Audioslave became very controversial when they started playing Rage Against the Machine covers -- but for what it's worth, I thought Chris Cornell was able to more than do justice to songs like "Sleep Now In The Fire", as well as bringing his improved vocal talents to Soundgarden songs. As a solo artist, I don't know if it really counts as a cover version if he sings material from any of his old bands -- but it's a shame he doesn't do Rage covers any more.
With all this in mind, I thought should go all High Fidelity today and rate my top 5 covers. So, in reverse order, the best cover versions.
- 5. All Along the Watchtower -- Jimi Hendrix
I mentioned somewhere else recently that the funny thing about Bob Dylan is that almost any cover version of one of his songs will improve on the original -- this isn't to say that Dylan wasn't good to begin with, but his folk style meant there was a lot to build on. But there's good covers, and there is taking a song and completely revolutionising it -- and that's what Hendrix does here; he leaves a scorching trail right through the middle of the song.
4. Satisfaction -- Cat Power
If you're not very familiar with the original Rolling Stones song, you wouldn't realise this was a cover at all. The big memorable riff is gone, the chorus has been dropped altogether, and instead Cat Power sings it with what feels like genuine sadness. Matt once told me the song is about Mick Jagger wanting to sleep with a groupie, but it's the wrong time of the month -- she says "baby come back, baby next week, can't you see I'm on a losing streak?". I don't know if this is truly what's being expressed, but Cat Power sings it with such emotion and totally changes the whole song around.
3. Jolene -- The White Stripes
Taking an old Dolly Parton song, and once again making it almost unrecognisable -- Jack White swings between singing softly and almost screaming the words. The thing is though, you can tell he really loves the song, he gets so passionate about it -- and you can't help but feel a surge of passion yourself.
2. Hallelujah -- Jeff Buckley
Why are my favourite covers today nearly all sad songs? Taking the iconic Leonard Cohen song (now there's music to slit your wrists to) and covering it faithfully, Jeff Buckley has a quiet, slow burning intensity that suits the song so well.
1. Where Did You Sleep Last Night -- Nirvana
Although not the author of this song, Leadbelly is credited with making it widely popular when he recorded it back in the 50's. Leadbelly has to be one of the most-covered artists ever, and was certainly a major influence on many of the great artists of the 90's, including the likes of Nirvana, Screaming Trees and Pearl Jam. Kurt Cobain actually first played guitar on a Mark Lanegan cover of this song, which in some respects is quite similar -- something not uncommon with Nirvana -- but the acoustic performance better suits the style. Just the same, I don't include that version on the list. If/when there is an official recorded Twilight Singers with Mark Lanegan cover then I will reconsider my position on this being my favourite cover.
An old blues song, it always reminds me of the Hendrix song Hey Joe -- probably because both are about murder, and possibly infidelity, but it's also the traditional melancholy that goes with it -- something that Cobain manages to express beautifully with his own voice.
This performance starts very simply, with just a man, a voice and a guitar -- but as the song slowly builds, more instruments join in and become more noticeable, as Cobain himself gets louder and more passionate. The song builds to a dramatic crescendo (why is it songs like this sound like orgasms?) where Cobain -- like Langean before him -- screams the final verse.
As a completely unrelated aside, the song also reminds me of the Robert Frost poem Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening -- which I suppose is because of the shared theme of woods/death.
Update: A new contender for worst cover ever!
Sunday, 2 December 2007
Sunday Night Hockey
After so many weeks of home losses and badly played games, Chelmsford surprised us all tonight. It was a league game against the hated Milton Keynes Lightning, and none of us were altogether optimistic about our home team's chances. As the game started, I turned to Calvin and said "We're going to win tonight" -- but I don't think either of us really believed it.
There must have been something in the air, because within minutes of the first period it was clear that Chelmsford were playing well -- both teams were playing well, to be fair -- and it could be a close-run game. Passes were meeting the right players, shots on goal were being successfully saved -- but at the end of the first period it was still a no score game. You could tell the crowd was a bit edgy, comments were made regarding last weeks' game which saw only one goal in the full sixty minutes, and that was against Chelmsford.
The second period saw the quality of hockey maintained -- good interceptions, the usual handful of penalties, but the clock was ticking away and I was starting to think there would be no score in the second period. Jon hadn't been able to make tonight's game, so I was drafting out a message to tell him there was no score at the end of the second -- when Chelmsford took first blood, and made the score one - nil. First blood was truly taken with a fight towards the end of the period -- the crowd cheering louder than when we scored.
The third and final period had everything to play for, a one goal lead wasn't anywhere near safety against the Lightning (whose fans seemed to be inexplicably wearing red cowboy hats tonight) -- so it was just as well when Chelmsford took it up to 2 - nil. There was still at least 15 minutes of the period left, and although Milton Keynes needed three goals to take them into the lead, I didn't have so much faith in Chelmsford that I thought they wouldn't mess it up. All they needed was to play defensively, but could they manage it? The quality of the game was easily the best all season, however the threat was there -- it wasn't our game yet.
With four minutes left on the clock, and Chelmsford still winning two goals to nothing (and the constant, incessant drumming of the Lightning fans -- being met with shouts of "You're losing!" from home team fans), the Chieftain boys drove home another goal against Milton Keynes. The clock ticked down, and we had a happy glow of winning a home game after so many weeks of disappointment.
There was five seconds to go, when a Milton Keynes shot just drifted lazily into the Chelmsford goal -- all the more frustrating because at any other point in the game, there might have been at least one defender hanging around, able to easily intercept this effort. Instead of a decisive 3 - nil shutout, because of a lucky visitors goal we had to settle for 3 - 1 instead. But you can't turn your nose up at that.
Last year, a home loss to Milton Keynes marked the end of a run of several wins for Chelmsford -- here's hoping tonight's victory marks the start of such a run of good fortune, and good playing.
There must have been something in the air, because within minutes of the first period it was clear that Chelmsford were playing well -- both teams were playing well, to be fair -- and it could be a close-run game. Passes were meeting the right players, shots on goal were being successfully saved -- but at the end of the first period it was still a no score game. You could tell the crowd was a bit edgy, comments were made regarding last weeks' game which saw only one goal in the full sixty minutes, and that was against Chelmsford.
The second period saw the quality of hockey maintained -- good interceptions, the usual handful of penalties, but the clock was ticking away and I was starting to think there would be no score in the second period. Jon hadn't been able to make tonight's game, so I was drafting out a message to tell him there was no score at the end of the second -- when Chelmsford took first blood, and made the score one - nil. First blood was truly taken with a fight towards the end of the period -- the crowd cheering louder than when we scored.
The third and final period had everything to play for, a one goal lead wasn't anywhere near safety against the Lightning (whose fans seemed to be inexplicably wearing red cowboy hats tonight) -- so it was just as well when Chelmsford took it up to 2 - nil. There was still at least 15 minutes of the period left, and although Milton Keynes needed three goals to take them into the lead, I didn't have so much faith in Chelmsford that I thought they wouldn't mess it up. All they needed was to play defensively, but could they manage it? The quality of the game was easily the best all season, however the threat was there -- it wasn't our game yet.
With four minutes left on the clock, and Chelmsford still winning two goals to nothing (and the constant, incessant drumming of the Lightning fans -- being met with shouts of "You're losing!" from home team fans), the Chieftain boys drove home another goal against Milton Keynes. The clock ticked down, and we had a happy glow of winning a home game after so many weeks of disappointment.
There was five seconds to go, when a Milton Keynes shot just drifted lazily into the Chelmsford goal -- all the more frustrating because at any other point in the game, there might have been at least one defender hanging around, able to easily intercept this effort. Instead of a decisive 3 - nil shutout, because of a lucky visitors goal we had to settle for 3 - 1 instead. But you can't turn your nose up at that.
Last year, a home loss to Milton Keynes marked the end of a run of several wins for Chelmsford -- here's hoping tonight's victory marks the start of such a run of good fortune, and good playing.
Wednesday, 28 November 2007
Kafka On The Shore
Kafka On The Shore by Haruki Murakami has to be hands-down the strangest book I have ever read. I love working in a book shop, I get exposed to so many different writers and ideas I probably wouldn't have considered before. Although Kafka is an international best seller, my life and this book were unlikely to ever cross paths.
That, in iself, is not altogether unlike a lot of the novel's plot. In the book, Kafka Tamura runs away from home in order to escape a curse, handed down to him by his Father. Oedipal in nature, characters in the novel draw deliberate comparisons with Greek tragedies and in this way the book follows a very similar sort of path -- certain events are inevitable, and in a way we are all just playing our parts. Running somewhat parallel to Kafka Tamura's storyline is that of an old man named Satoru Nakata. Nakata was among a group of children gathering mushrooms one day on a school trip, towards the end of World War II. A strange silver light was seen in the sky and the entire class fell into a kind of waking sleep, or hypnotic state. Nakata was the only child not to awake shortly afterwards -- and when he did finally awake many weeks later, most of his mental faculties had been lost, and replaced with the ability to talk to cats.
While Nakata is trying to solve the mystery of a lost cat, Kafka is trying to find his long-lost Mum and sister, whom both left when he was a child. It's never explained why he is so keen to find them, when the whole reason he runs away from home is to escape the curse that he is destined to sleep with them both.
The two plot lines alternate with no seeming connection between them for most of the book. At one point a character mentions that in fiction if a pistol should appear then at some point it is going to be fired -- this clearly indicates that the two plots will at some point converge, otherwise they wouldn't both be included.
Among the themes explored in the book is the relationship between reality and dreams -- there seems to be a very flexible boundary between the two, and where one ends and the other begins is never made very clear.
I openly admit that many things in the book confused me. Nakata meets a man who has adopted the persona of Johnnie Walker. Not just the name, but the entire look -- hat, boots and everything else. Johnnie Walker is killing cats, in order to make a flute with their souls -- and he incites Nakata into killing him. Johnnie Walker later appears in one particularly surreal passage involving a crow. The name Kafka means crow in Czech, and the character Kafka seems to have a dissociative identity he refers to as "the boy named Crow". The conflict between the crow and Johnnie Walker could perhaps be interpreted as Oedipul. Who or what Johnnie Walker is is never made clear, other than that he is bad. All the business about the souls of cats and flutes is again never explained. What was achieved by Nakata killing him -- at his request -- is, guess what, never explained.
As if Johnnie Walker isn't confusing enough, later in the novel a truck driver who befriends Nakata meets Colonel Sanders. Like Johnnie Walker, Colonel Sanders has only adopted that persona -- but explains that instead he is a concept. He is also quite bad tempered, and working as a pimp.
If all of this sounds confusing, it is. I did say right away it was the strangest book I've read, but it is also incredibly well written and very engaging. The classical tragedy nature of the story adds symbolism to the strange events -- you don't ask why Nakata would be left able to talk to cats, it is clear that this happens so that he may fulfil a later destiny. Everyone has their roles to play.
The surrealism is welcome, too many books go from point A to point B and tie everything up in a neat little bow.
Sailing towards the edge of the earth
"We're so trapped that any way we could imagine to escape would be just another part of the trap. Anything we want, we're trained to want...Our real discoveries come from chaos, from going to the place that looks wrong and stupid and foolish." -- Chuck Palahniuk
After however-many years of going back and forth, of will-I-won't-I and indecision, I made a decision today. I had the day off work, with it I went to the armed forced careers office, and I signed an application form. It's precisely because being in the military seems to someone of my personality type as wrong and foolish that I am doing it -- because anything you want you are trained to want. I am Columbus sailing towards disaster at the edge of the world.
There is also the eternal dilemma though that I do want it, that I do think it is a good idea. I want to prove something to myself, I want to be part of something larger. My whole life has been mememememe. Oh, poor Jay, he feels abandoned. Poor Jay, he feels neglected. Poor Jay, he's never going to be a movie god or a rock star. I want to devote myself to something bigger than my ego. Of course, by doing so I am obviously also feeding my own ego -- it's all another part of the trap of our culture. I also want to prove something to the rest of the world. I am not a slacker. I want to prove something to the people who say I would never make it through the basic training, or that with a history of depression they will never even accept my application.
The latter is something that I do need to look at -- in filling in the application form which was more like an examination booklet, I hesitated where it mentioned if you have had two or more incidents of deliberate self harm. I can't count the times any more -- but I think my saving grace will be that on the record, there is only one, and that was 5 years ago. I am going to request to see my medical records and correct anything on them I think is incorrect -- like that incident I have reason to suspect was recorded as a suicide attempt, when it wasn't anything even resembling one.
The application process is very long winded and will involve several different interviews, not to mention a physical exam -- for the latter I really have no excuse not to start going to the gym again.
Aside from the marching, the shouting, the wearing a uniform, the following orders and the general fact that it is the military it all seems like a good idea. There would be travel (meet interesting people -- then shoot them!), job security and opportunities to get paid to do things like go rock climbing. And you never know, I might rock that whole uniform look.
So to summarise, I work in a bookshop and have decided it's a good idea if I join the air force. It all makes perfect sense.
Monday, 26 November 2007
Skyways
I don't have much to show for my weekend, but at least this time I remembered to take my camera out with me. I must have taken dozens of shots while out for a short walk on my own, but this has to be one of my favourites.
If I'm feeling so inclined, I may well post others here later.
As promised, and to show I don't *only* use the greyscale filter, I offer more pictures. This is in no way related to not being able to think of anything to write about.
Question
Amanda has asked today -- following a discussion at a party -- if it's true that boys who don't smile have smouldering eyes. I argue not, but I open it up for readers here.
P.S. It's been mentioned that my comments link isn't showing up. Seems to work fine for most of you, but if you can't see it today, send me an email.
P.S. It's been mentioned that my comments link isn't showing up. Seems to work fine for most of you, but if you can't see it today, send me an email.
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Will you take me where you're going if you're never coming back
Shortly before San left for her life-changing trip to Japan this year, I sent her a message. So much of our communications had always been through text message, but now it seems strange -- I've not sent her a text message since April. Anyway, because of the nature of text messages or just how my mind works, the message I sent her was something along the lines of "What if I was not your only friend in this world? Can you take me where you're going if you're never coming back?".
It's a quote from an Eels song, Last Stop This Town -- the song is actually about death (as much of that album is, unfortunately for Mr E), but I liked the idea "will you take me where you're going if you're never coming back" it conveys a whole range of emotions, and expressed a lot for me in a few words.
San and I were talking a little on email today, about music and gigs this summer. San expressed an interest in one particular show -- but then brought up the point: will she even be here? I think technically her obligation to her teaching assistant contract finishes in April, but San said herself that if she comes home for an extended period of time she is worried it will be forever.
This has been playing on my mind in one form or another. Part of me wants to ask maybe what she is running away from (you can't run away from yourself), or what she's looking for. But then part of me asks, isn't she just doing what I keep saying I want to do -- and lack the courage? I say I'm not interested in the material life, that I want to travel, meet people, see all the amazing things this world has to offer. I want to take pictures and listen to stories, I don't care about cars and houses...
At the same time, I tell myself I need to clear my debts, and my dreams are all very nice but completely impractical. I daydream about rescuing sea turtles in Mexico, or spear-fishing in Brazil -- and maybe if you want to, these things are really possible, or maybe it's all well and good for a few years until you realise that time isn't standing still for you and sooner or later "a proper job" will be inevitable if you expect to be able to eat, or whatever. Maybe what it really comes down to is I'm jealous, because I want to have the courage to just stick two fingers up to everything here.
Don't get me wrong, I have no desire to be a teaching assistant. I don't want to teach and aren't a huge fan of kids in general. The kinds of things that do appeal require me to stump up large sums of cash first.
I tell myself the trick is to play the game -- to get the good job, so I then have the money to travel, to embark on volunteer adventures, so that I can meet people and take pictures. But it's a tightrope, especially when what you'd also really like is someone special in your life -- all too quickly one thing can lead to another, and it's not a bad thing, it's just life.
There isn't really a point to any of this. I don't have a conclusion or a happy ending to give to it to resolve it. If San really is ever coming back -- for more than a visit -- only she can decide. And I still need to decide for myself how to get what I should have in my life -- which is becoming a running theme just lately.
It's a quote from an Eels song, Last Stop This Town -- the song is actually about death (as much of that album is, unfortunately for Mr E), but I liked the idea "will you take me where you're going if you're never coming back" it conveys a whole range of emotions, and expressed a lot for me in a few words.
San and I were talking a little on email today, about music and gigs this summer. San expressed an interest in one particular show -- but then brought up the point: will she even be here? I think technically her obligation to her teaching assistant contract finishes in April, but San said herself that if she comes home for an extended period of time she is worried it will be forever.
This has been playing on my mind in one form or another. Part of me wants to ask maybe what she is running away from (you can't run away from yourself), or what she's looking for. But then part of me asks, isn't she just doing what I keep saying I want to do -- and lack the courage? I say I'm not interested in the material life, that I want to travel, meet people, see all the amazing things this world has to offer. I want to take pictures and listen to stories, I don't care about cars and houses...
At the same time, I tell myself I need to clear my debts, and my dreams are all very nice but completely impractical. I daydream about rescuing sea turtles in Mexico, or spear-fishing in Brazil -- and maybe if you want to, these things are really possible, or maybe it's all well and good for a few years until you realise that time isn't standing still for you and sooner or later "a proper job" will be inevitable if you expect to be able to eat, or whatever. Maybe what it really comes down to is I'm jealous, because I want to have the courage to just stick two fingers up to everything here.
Don't get me wrong, I have no desire to be a teaching assistant. I don't want to teach and aren't a huge fan of kids in general. The kinds of things that do appeal require me to stump up large sums of cash first.
I tell myself the trick is to play the game -- to get the good job, so I then have the money to travel, to embark on volunteer adventures, so that I can meet people and take pictures. But it's a tightrope, especially when what you'd also really like is someone special in your life -- all too quickly one thing can lead to another, and it's not a bad thing, it's just life.
There isn't really a point to any of this. I don't have a conclusion or a happy ending to give to it to resolve it. If San really is ever coming back -- for more than a visit -- only she can decide. And I still need to decide for myself how to get what I should have in my life -- which is becoming a running theme just lately.
"Why dont we take a ride away up high
Through the neighbourhood
Up over the billboards and the factories
And smoke..."
Monday, 19 November 2007
Times Like These
#It's times like these you learn to learn to live again
It's times like these you give and give again
It's times like these you learn to love again
It's times like these, time and time again#
Foo Fighters, Times Like These
In stark contrast to my recent trip to see the Sex Pistols on my own, Saturday was the eagerly anticipated Foo Fighters show at London's new O2 Arena. The O2 Arena is funny, since it started out life as the disastrous Millennium Dome. To celebrate the Millennium an awful lot of money was wasted on building the dome, which as I recall housed only a rather poor sort of exhibition. It will go down in history was one of the worst ideas ever, and popular opinion has largely been that the London Eye was much more sensible. For several years, the fate of the Dome has been open to speculation -- until it seems that someone had the belatedly-good idea of making it into what it is now: the best selling live music venue in the world.
Housing two live music venues along with numerous bars and restaurants, it's hard to see why nobody thought of doing this with it in the first place. The only thing that disturbs me is how much it looks like the Death Star when you look at the floor plan.
Anyway, on Saturday I headed into London with my friends first for dinner and drinks and then the gig itself. We'd talked ages ago of going up early and getting something to eat first, but sometimes with my friends it can be hard to know if this means pub food, Subway or an actual restaurant. With plenty to choose from, we settled on Las Iguanas for its Latin American food. Naturally, it was slightly on the pricey side -- but it was good food.
I'd never been seated at an arena show before -- so it was slightly disconcerting to see how far up we were once we'd found our seats at the back, when I stood up to take off my coat I had to ask someone to hold on to me so I wouldn't worry about falling over the seats in front.
The Foo Fighters show itself was amazing, and definitely among one of their best ever. Joining them on this tour is the legendary Pat Smear -- a founding member, and briefly the second guitarist in Nirvana. I'm willing to bet his presence contributed to the inclusion of some songs from the band's self titled debut album. Among the crowd favourites from the new album, there was the surprise of hearing the band play songs like For All The Cows, This Is A Call and Weenie Beenie -- the latter I haven't heard them play since the V festival, in 1997.
I was slightly disappointed they didn't play MIA, but you can never expect to hear every single last song you want to. The best song of the night for me -- and possibly my favourite of their songs -- was Times Like These. I like the idea of it -- of learning to live and love again. I couldn't even begin to list all of the songs they played -- but it was one of those impassioned performances that are close to a religious experience, with thousands of people all singing along together. It makes you want to hug someone.
Friday, 16 November 2007
The dream
Last week, I had a dream that I had Down's Syndrome. It sounds funny, or stupid, and in the cold light of day it seemed a mixture of both. I tried to talk to my friends about it, but unfortunately only managed to make it sound funny, at first. With a little explaining of how I felt and what I think the dream was about or influenced by, Jon at least could see what I was saying. Nick showed just how clueless he remains when he told us last night that he thought it was so funny he texted all his friends to say that I'd had a dream about having Down's Syndrome and had been apparently "disappointed" because if they'd known my parents would have had an abortion.
It's difficult to explain. For about as long as I can remember, I have felt that I wasn't just "different" to other people, but that there was actually something wrong with me. Growing up, I was always very clumsy -- I'd walk into door frames, had very bad "spatial awareness" and sense of balance. I remain clumsy to this day, but it's not considered an issue now. But as a child it was considered possibly very serious, since I have an uncle with Multiple Sclerosis and I'm told some of the early warning signs are perceived clumsiness.
That might explain why at school I would sometimes be pulled out of lessons to have tests run on me -- to check my hearing, check my balance, check my coordination -- but was never given an explanation at the time. I know so many people have said and will continue to say "I would have asked". I don't know why I didn't ask, didn't demand answers, except that just wasn't me.
I've heard told that as a child I was late to start talking -- again, it was assumed there was something wrong with me. The experts concluded there wasn't, I just didn't feel like talking. I also remember however-many visits to speech therapists -- surely by this time I was talking -- but why I was going, or what it achieved, I can't tell you. Especially as I still can't pronounce my "th" properly ("three" is the same as "free") but that's very much an Essex/London accent anyway.
In later years, there's been emotional problems. There's been depression and god knows what else, and from a medical perspective doctors never really agreed what was wrong with me. I blame it at least in part on a tendency to act out -- if you tell me I'm depressed, I will be. If you tell me I have borderline personality disorder, or bipolar depression, or whatever else label you want to give me, then I will be able to parrot fashion repeat back to you the symptoms, if that's what you want to hear.
I was watching the movie Garden State earlier this evening. In the movie, Zach Braff's character has been on medication constantly since he was a child and no longer feels anything -- until he goes home for his mother's funeral and stops taking his medication.
I have gone cold turkey from various medications myself in the past and it was not fun. In fact, it was about as fucked up as it has been possible to feel. I once had a psychiatrist cancel my prescription for anti depressants because he felt it hadn't been firmly established if I might be bipolar in which case the medication I was taking would have been completely wrong. The unfortunate thing was, I wasn't given anything else and he never returned my phone calls -- let alone make a second appointment -- so I felt like I was left to fend for myself. Anyway, the point is that it can be positively dangerous to just stop taking these kinds of medications and you should not do so without consulting your doctor who would advise you on how to gradually cut down.
The film has nothing of this -- it showed nothing of the soaring feeling of complete indestructibility I would first feel when I quit the meds, this giving way quickly to a spiralling depression and a desire to really hurt myself. Zach Braff's character seems to instead slowly begin to feel all kinds of things again, in what appears to be a smooth and almost seamless transition. I know, it's a movie -- it's not meant to be taken literally. But it annoyed me.
My dream was about feeling like there was something wrong with me. It was about finding out there was something wrong with me -- of always suspecting, and then finding out it had been kept a secret. And I do know almost for a fact that my Dad at least would consider abortion to be the kinder option for a child with Down's Sydrome -- I have no idea how well educated about the subject he is, but I remember him telling me before that the children you see with the condition are a very lucky minority who are able to live an almost normal life -- and that instead 99% of people born with the condition are so severely handicapped... Well, you get it by now.
Even if I didn't explain it very well, even if I made it sound funny at first because I didn't know how else to bring up with my friends a lingering feeling of distress from a dream, I was fucking insulted to hear Nick say how he was texting his friends about it, because it was so funny. Sometimes I think I should tell my therapist about the violent thoughts that boy inspires in me, almost without effort on his part.
As a post script... I don't know. I grow and I prove things to myself -- passing my driving test was one of the biggest achievements in my life, since my instructor when I was 17 gave up on trying to teach me. He said he had "run out of ideas to help [me]" -- but at 25 I sure showed him when I did pass my test. I'd had an instructor who wouldn't give up on me, and helped me to believe in myself. And I realised that even if I do walk into door frames and bang my head when I pick up the post off the mat, that I can still drive a car perfectly well. I am trying to rewrite the story that is my life, or who I am, in so many ways -- but clearly some issues remain in that old subconscious mind.
It's difficult to explain. For about as long as I can remember, I have felt that I wasn't just "different" to other people, but that there was actually something wrong with me. Growing up, I was always very clumsy -- I'd walk into door frames, had very bad "spatial awareness" and sense of balance. I remain clumsy to this day, but it's not considered an issue now. But as a child it was considered possibly very serious, since I have an uncle with Multiple Sclerosis and I'm told some of the early warning signs are perceived clumsiness.
That might explain why at school I would sometimes be pulled out of lessons to have tests run on me -- to check my hearing, check my balance, check my coordination -- but was never given an explanation at the time. I know so many people have said and will continue to say "I would have asked". I don't know why I didn't ask, didn't demand answers, except that just wasn't me.
I've heard told that as a child I was late to start talking -- again, it was assumed there was something wrong with me. The experts concluded there wasn't, I just didn't feel like talking. I also remember however-many visits to speech therapists -- surely by this time I was talking -- but why I was going, or what it achieved, I can't tell you. Especially as I still can't pronounce my "th" properly ("three" is the same as "free") but that's very much an Essex/London accent anyway.
In later years, there's been emotional problems. There's been depression and god knows what else, and from a medical perspective doctors never really agreed what was wrong with me. I blame it at least in part on a tendency to act out -- if you tell me I'm depressed, I will be. If you tell me I have borderline personality disorder, or bipolar depression, or whatever else label you want to give me, then I will be able to parrot fashion repeat back to you the symptoms, if that's what you want to hear.
I was watching the movie Garden State earlier this evening. In the movie, Zach Braff's character has been on medication constantly since he was a child and no longer feels anything -- until he goes home for his mother's funeral and stops taking his medication.
I have gone cold turkey from various medications myself in the past and it was not fun. In fact, it was about as fucked up as it has been possible to feel. I once had a psychiatrist cancel my prescription for anti depressants because he felt it hadn't been firmly established if I might be bipolar in which case the medication I was taking would have been completely wrong. The unfortunate thing was, I wasn't given anything else and he never returned my phone calls -- let alone make a second appointment -- so I felt like I was left to fend for myself. Anyway, the point is that it can be positively dangerous to just stop taking these kinds of medications and you should not do so without consulting your doctor who would advise you on how to gradually cut down.
The film has nothing of this -- it showed nothing of the soaring feeling of complete indestructibility I would first feel when I quit the meds, this giving way quickly to a spiralling depression and a desire to really hurt myself. Zach Braff's character seems to instead slowly begin to feel all kinds of things again, in what appears to be a smooth and almost seamless transition. I know, it's a movie -- it's not meant to be taken literally. But it annoyed me.
My dream was about feeling like there was something wrong with me. It was about finding out there was something wrong with me -- of always suspecting, and then finding out it had been kept a secret. And I do know almost for a fact that my Dad at least would consider abortion to be the kinder option for a child with Down's Sydrome -- I have no idea how well educated about the subject he is, but I remember him telling me before that the children you see with the condition are a very lucky minority who are able to live an almost normal life -- and that instead 99% of people born with the condition are so severely handicapped... Well, you get it by now.
Even if I didn't explain it very well, even if I made it sound funny at first because I didn't know how else to bring up with my friends a lingering feeling of distress from a dream, I was fucking insulted to hear Nick say how he was texting his friends about it, because it was so funny. Sometimes I think I should tell my therapist about the violent thoughts that boy inspires in me, almost without effort on his part.
As a post script... I don't know. I grow and I prove things to myself -- passing my driving test was one of the biggest achievements in my life, since my instructor when I was 17 gave up on trying to teach me. He said he had "run out of ideas to help [me]" -- but at 25 I sure showed him when I did pass my test. I'd had an instructor who wouldn't give up on me, and helped me to believe in myself. And I realised that even if I do walk into door frames and bang my head when I pick up the post off the mat, that I can still drive a car perfectly well. I am trying to rewrite the story that is my life, or who I am, in so many ways -- but clearly some issues remain in that old subconscious mind.
Thursday, 15 November 2007
John Hegley
In keeping with my attempts to write about a range of subjects and mediums, this post is about the poet, comedian and musician John Hegley.
I'm not his biographer, if you want to find out about the early years of his life in a bungalow in Luton you'll need to go elsewhere. All I'm really interested in today is the man and his words.
I've seen it said that John Hegley is too funny to ever really be taken seriously as a poet, but at the same time too talented a poet to be considered a comedian -- he exists in several worlds all at the same, without seeming to want to settle for just one.
John Hegley's poems were first introduced to me by the infamous Kath -- who is more or less responsible for my whole poetry liking, along with getting me to listen to Radiohead, wear eyeliner and love Manchester. She has a lot to answer for besides this, too, but it's all been said before and this isn't a post about girls.
When Kath first sent me John Hegley I think she told me that they were amusing, but that the poems also had a sort of deeper meaning to them. She didn't mean deeper as in spiritual or philosophical, but literally there was more than just what you saw on the surface -- like so many, Hegley sometimes uses humour to approach a serious subject. If you can cover yourself with humour sometimes you can sneak up on thinking about a more serious point without realising until it's too late.
Lost Going To Shropshire was hardly a poem with a serious message -- but it wasn't just to be thrown away, either. Hegley says himself in the poem that he likes ambiguity, and clearly he is very bright since he likes to play with words. Take for example his short poem, The Play
There are several immediately identifiable themes I can pick out running through John Hegley's work. I think the clearest of these would be dogs. There's Death of a Dog -- not surprisingly about the death of his dog, but in many ways a typical Hegley poem in that it's both funny and serious and sad and it makes you think. When distraught about the death of his dog, the young protagonist remembers something he'd read that posed the idea that if you lived forever there would be no point in trying to do anything -- because you'd be able to do everything an infinite number of times. There's too many poems for me to try and remember about his dogs specifically -- but dogs also crop up in some unusual places in his poems.
Apparently a committed Christian, Hegley also has poems about Jesus. Normally, the mention of Jesus makes me a little twitchy but he usually manages to refrain from being preachy. In Look Dad, Hegley writes about Jesus' joy of walking on water ("walking on water is God's gift to me") -- in a very funny and likeable way. He lapses briefly into French (as he sometimes does, as a nod to his own French Dad), but also throws in a reference to dogs. In Jesus Isn't Just For Christmas Hegley asks if Jesus had a dog, with the strange line of questioning:
It's a relatively serious poem -- but Hegley injects his own humour into it. The poem ends with the lines "No trial, for whatever it is the lad done -- if that's a Good Friday, I wouldn't want a bad one". It makes me laugh, but when you stop laughing you do stop to think for a minute.
Another theme that crops up with some regularity in Hegley's work is that of family. He has songs about growing up in his Luton bungalow with his siblings, about his Mum living in a mobile home, poems about the birth of his daughter (in The New Father's Mistake he mistakenly thinks the midwife has given a questionnaire meant for his wife to him, for him to fill out)-- and he has diary entries which are a kind of poetic prose about his Dad, when he was growing up. I think with a Christian perspective, the role of his Dad (his Father, as it were) is very important -- since he also becomes in a way your model for God. Maybe I'm just speaking for me, but if from a young age you hearing about "God the Father" you automatically associate the two. Whether this is good or bad I will reserve judgement on for another day.
John Hegley also likes potatoes. I don't know why, but he has various poems mentioning potatoes -- and at least one in French (French Potato Poem).
Words, the written page, don't do justice to John Hegley. You can read and enjoy his books like Dog and The Sound of Paint Drying (among many other fine works) but like anyone, you have to see him live to fully appreciate it. You have to see which poems are also songs -- as with Eddie Don't Like Furniture -- and see John Hegley rocking out a ukulele solo, you have to hear the rhythm, the tone of voice and the sardonic humour.
Unlike most poets, John Hegley is often touring -- or appearing once a month at a club in Kings Cross. If you like comedy, if you like poetry, or if you just want to be entertained he will satisfy you and more. I wish I could post every one of his poems here -- instead I can make some selected works available on request, and have uploaded some MP3 files of a couple of his performances. If you don't have the attention span for the first, I have also extracted a couple of shorter pieces from it.
John Hegley 1
John Hegley 2
Pear Shaped
Jesus Isn't Just For Christmas
I'm not his biographer, if you want to find out about the early years of his life in a bungalow in Luton you'll need to go elsewhere. All I'm really interested in today is the man and his words.
I've seen it said that John Hegley is too funny to ever really be taken seriously as a poet, but at the same time too talented a poet to be considered a comedian -- he exists in several worlds all at the same, without seeming to want to settle for just one.
John Hegley's poems were first introduced to me by the infamous Kath -- who is more or less responsible for my whole poetry liking, along with getting me to listen to Radiohead, wear eyeliner and love Manchester. She has a lot to answer for besides this, too, but it's all been said before and this isn't a post about girls.
When Kath first sent me John Hegley I think she told me that they were amusing, but that the poems also had a sort of deeper meaning to them. She didn't mean deeper as in spiritual or philosophical, but literally there was more than just what you saw on the surface -- like so many, Hegley sometimes uses humour to approach a serious subject. If you can cover yourself with humour sometimes you can sneak up on thinking about a more serious point without realising until it's too late.
Lost Going To Shropshire was hardly a poem with a serious message -- but it wasn't just to be thrown away, either. Hegley says himself in the poem that he likes ambiguity, and clearly he is very bright since he likes to play with words. Take for example his short poem, The Play
Yesterday i went to see a play in my friend’s carIt makes you smile, but you realise it's a subtle joke about the use of grammar. In his poem Mad Mum Hegley slowly reveals small pieces of information about a scene -- a scene which starts simply with someone pushing a pram and saying "my little baby", but before too long you find out it's neither a woman, nor really a baby. And although it's funny, you also realise there's a point in there about mental health. Perhaps unlike his poem/diary entry which reads "In the doctor's reception the sign read: 'Are you looking after someone over 65 with mental health problems?'. I read the sign as 'Are you looking for someone over 65 with mental health problems?'.
It was by an experimental group
Who do plays in people’s cars
There are several immediately identifiable themes I can pick out running through John Hegley's work. I think the clearest of these would be dogs. There's Death of a Dog -- not surprisingly about the death of his dog, but in many ways a typical Hegley poem in that it's both funny and serious and sad and it makes you think. When distraught about the death of his dog, the young protagonist remembers something he'd read that posed the idea that if you lived forever there would be no point in trying to do anything -- because you'd be able to do everything an infinite number of times. There's too many poems for me to try and remember about his dogs specifically -- but dogs also crop up in some unusual places in his poems.
Apparently a committed Christian, Hegley also has poems about Jesus. Normally, the mention of Jesus makes me a little twitchy but he usually manages to refrain from being preachy. In Look Dad, Hegley writes about Jesus' joy of walking on water ("walking on water is God's gift to me") -- in a very funny and likeable way. He lapses briefly into French (as he sometimes does, as a nod to his own French Dad), but also throws in a reference to dogs. In Jesus Isn't Just For Christmas Hegley asks if Jesus had a dog, with the strange line of questioning:
Did he have a dog? And was it disaster?It makes sense knowing John Hegley that he would wonder if Jesus had a dog -- but the rest of is just so far off the wall. But it works.
Breaking all its legs and going round in plaster,
Swallowed by the water, following its master,
Sinking like a stone, only sinking somewhat faster."
It's a relatively serious poem -- but Hegley injects his own humour into it. The poem ends with the lines "No trial, for whatever it is the lad done -- if that's a Good Friday, I wouldn't want a bad one". It makes me laugh, but when you stop laughing you do stop to think for a minute.
Another theme that crops up with some regularity in Hegley's work is that of family. He has songs about growing up in his Luton bungalow with his siblings, about his Mum living in a mobile home, poems about the birth of his daughter (in The New Father's Mistake he mistakenly thinks the midwife has given a questionnaire meant for his wife to him, for him to fill out)-- and he has diary entries which are a kind of poetic prose about his Dad, when he was growing up. I think with a Christian perspective, the role of his Dad (his Father, as it were) is very important -- since he also becomes in a way your model for God. Maybe I'm just speaking for me, but if from a young age you hearing about "God the Father" you automatically associate the two. Whether this is good or bad I will reserve judgement on for another day.
John Hegley also likes potatoes. I don't know why, but he has various poems mentioning potatoes -- and at least one in French (French Potato Poem).
Words, the written page, don't do justice to John Hegley. You can read and enjoy his books like Dog and The Sound of Paint Drying (among many other fine works) but like anyone, you have to see him live to fully appreciate it. You have to see which poems are also songs -- as with Eddie Don't Like Furniture -- and see John Hegley rocking out a ukulele solo, you have to hear the rhythm, the tone of voice and the sardonic humour.
Unlike most poets, John Hegley is often touring -- or appearing once a month at a club in Kings Cross. If you like comedy, if you like poetry, or if you just want to be entertained he will satisfy you and more. I wish I could post every one of his poems here -- instead I can make some selected works available on request, and have uploaded some MP3 files of a couple of his performances. If you don't have the attention span for the first, I have also extracted a couple of shorter pieces from it.
John Hegley 1
John Hegley 2
Pear Shaped
Jesus Isn't Just For Christmas
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
Lostnesses
Lost Going to Shropshire
by John Hegley
Just out of Euston
On a trip to Shrewsbury
Changing at Crewe
The announcement, “If anybody has lost anything
Please contact the guard at the back of the train”.
I like the ambiguity,
Just as I like the ambiguity in art, dance and poetry.
Passengers invade the vestibules
To check their luggage.
I imagine a queue forming at the train’s back,
With various lostnesses:
I’ve lost a glove.
I’ve lost a gland.
I lost fourteen nil at blow football in my time.
I’ve lost the ability to live purely in the moment.
Somewhere on my way back from Brixton on Thursday night, I lost my scarf. I had a brief panic on Friday morning when I thought I had lost my wallet as well, so I'm glad in a way it was only my scarf. I've also started wearing the warm, brown coat my brother gave me last year that was temporarily mislaid at a comedy club in Portsmouth.
I am punishing myself for losing the scarf by going without one for a week, so I can learn to look after my things better and really appreciate them. Though the loss of a fairly unremarkable Gap scarf has given me the opportunity to buy this one from Etsy. I've been wanting an excuse to buy it for ages, ever since it was recommended as a potential gift for my brother's birthday.
I'll post pictures once it arrives.
Monday, 12 November 2007
quasi-Musical Monday
Way back in the day, one of my favourite bloggers used to include with posts the occasional "hottie of the day". I was going to make a Musical Monday post about this artist, until I remembered that I don't actually like her music. I like her voice, and I think she's hot -- but I don't listen to her music by choice.
So anyway, call this what you like -- hottie of the day, or a quasi-Musical Monday, but I give you Katie Melua.
"If you were a piece of wood, I'd nail you" -- you said it, Katie
So anyway, call this what you like -- hottie of the day, or a quasi-Musical Monday, but I give you Katie Melua.
"If you were a piece of wood, I'd nail you" -- you said it, Katie
Saturday, 10 November 2007
Sex Pistols, Brixton Academy (and everything related)
We left off on our story of this intrepid adventurer and narrator last week with me holding a pair of Sex Pistols tickets and nobody to go with.
My friend Dominic that I know from volunteering was actually very excited and eager to go -- but unfortunately he couldn't get the night off work. At the last minute, my friend Christina (whom I don't think I've ever mentioned here before) contacted me via Facebook to say she really wanted to go, but didn't know anyone to go with. I felt a little bad for not asking her originally, but didn't think we really knew each other well enough to be going to a gig together, just the two of us.
But considering she spent most of the day with only Rhys when we all went to see Aerosmith in Hyde Park, she's not someone who gives that kind of thing any thought. In the end, it was a similar story for her though -- she couldn't get the night off. And I stuck the ticket on Ebay.
I actually put it on Ebay before I heard from Christina for definite, but gave it a reasonably high "buy it now" price. I figured if Christina was unable to go I could then drop the price right down to get a sale. What I hadn't bargained on was being unable to change that later because there were bids on the ticket. Or in this case, one single, solitary bid of a pound.
Naturally, I just logged in with my alternative ebay account and bid on my own auction to raise the stakes a bit.
The bid-snipers came out in the closing minutes, and in the end one user in particular won the auction for a massive £21. Almost half price, it was a whole £19 less than I am paying for the ticket -- but beggars can't be choosers.
Once the auction ended I started emailing the buyer to arrange details for how to pay me and how I would give them their ticket. The buyer turned out to be a young lady named Jools who was very grateful for the ticket and on exchanging numbers to arrange to meet with the ticket on Thursday night, we spent much of Wednesday night having conversations via text.
I wondered if perhaps I wouldn't be seeing the band on my own after all, and although we knew nothing about each other, thought perhaps there could just be the beginnings of something more.
Fast forward to Thursday night: I finish work and walk into the storms ravaging England. Luckily for me the rains had lessened considerably from earlier in the day -- but Jools was apparently not so lucky. I called her when I arrived in Brixton and she told me she'd had to go home to change, as she'd been soaked. But she gave me directions to the bar where we were to meet.
Finding the bar was no problem, but I hesitated before walking in. I was dressed in my old torn jeans, Zero t-shirt and black leather jacket -- through the window of the bar I could see the clientèle in suits. But with the alternative being wait outside in the cold and the rain, I held my head up high, walked in and ordered myself a beer.
Within seconds I was having second thoughts about Jools, when I noticed the bar's rainbow flags. Still, although I don't much go in for the gay scene I know that I can walk into almost any gay bar in London and be certain that unlike a lot of places the staff will be friendly and I won't get any trouble.
I stood at the bar and read my book for an hour before Jools arrived. I was just finishing my second drink when my phone started to ring -- I picked it up and answered, and noticed Jools walking in.
The signs should have been obvious to me sooner -- the fact that she was new to Ebay when she bought the ticket, and confessed to being thrown by setting up a Paypal account, there should have been alarm bells ringing. I wondered if not unlike the bus-stop girl she might be a teenager. What I didn't expect was a 50 year old.
On Wednesday night when we'd been texting she'd made some comment like "I wonder what the crowd will be like?", and I'd replied saying I expected they would be older than the band. She probably smiled to herself about that, at the time (although she's not older than the band).
It turns out Jools had never been to this bar before and didn't know it was a gay bar, but if I had put any thoughts of something more between us out of my head earlier, they now positively dropped and rolled in their hurry to get out.
As it happens, Jools was very good company. She was both very grateful for the ticket and extremely generous (though she could have been more generous and given me the face value), buying me drinks and not even questioning why I was on my own. I'd probably said in the auction's item description I was on my own.
I was introduced to her friends as they arrived -- just as Jay, the nice guy that had sold her the ticket -- who were all of a similar age, but also it seems in their own ways quite successful. Although what she does now, I don't really remember apparently Jools used to be someone very important in the media with a close and long-running professional relationship with a certain radio DJ and television presenter. Maybe this person is in my life not for personal reasons but professional ones?
Looking back, I wish perhaps Jools and her entourage had been a little less generous with the drinks. We didn't bother watching the Cribs who were supporting, and although I lost track how much I drank that night, some rough calculations since then have suggested it was something like 6 or 7 pints, more or less on an empty stomach.
As for the gig itself, we were stood at the absolute very farthest back wall of Brixton Academy. We could see the stage, but I don't think I got a glance of Johnny Rotten all night. The band were good -- very bloody good, consider it's been thirty years since Never mind the Bollocks was released -- and Johnny Rotten remains as funny as ever, in his very strange posh/cockney way. Despite being so good "considering" they weren't amazing. They played their songs well and with passion, but I don't know... It just wasn't spectacular. That said, I never expected the band to be amazing -- they never were, what they were was incredibly influential and a sort of catalyst for the times -- for the whole movement. And I wanted the chance to see the original band playing their own songs -- it's one thing to hear records, to hear live records, to hear bands playing Pistols covers, but it's something else to hear Johnny Rotten singing, right there.
Getting home was naturally a struggle because the Victoria line -- the only Tube line to Brixton -- was closed, and buses were running instead. Jools sent me off after a bus, and the rest of the journey home was a bit of a blur. I got off the bus somewhere around Leicester Square, since I knew the area from when I worked there and sort of stumbled along to Liverpool Street and to the train home. Jon had kindly agreed to pick me up -- even though it was gone 1am by the time I got the station -- and I was barely through the door at home before I was bent over the toilet...
I woke up on Friday with the bedroom light still on. Even when I shifted the worst of the hangover with pain killers, caffeine and sugar the day was not fun.
Still, it's very punk.
My friend Dominic that I know from volunteering was actually very excited and eager to go -- but unfortunately he couldn't get the night off work. At the last minute, my friend Christina (whom I don't think I've ever mentioned here before) contacted me via Facebook to say she really wanted to go, but didn't know anyone to go with. I felt a little bad for not asking her originally, but didn't think we really knew each other well enough to be going to a gig together, just the two of us.
But considering she spent most of the day with only Rhys when we all went to see Aerosmith in Hyde Park, she's not someone who gives that kind of thing any thought. In the end, it was a similar story for her though -- she couldn't get the night off. And I stuck the ticket on Ebay.
I actually put it on Ebay before I heard from Christina for definite, but gave it a reasonably high "buy it now" price. I figured if Christina was unable to go I could then drop the price right down to get a sale. What I hadn't bargained on was being unable to change that later because there were bids on the ticket. Or in this case, one single, solitary bid of a pound.
Naturally, I just logged in with my alternative ebay account and bid on my own auction to raise the stakes a bit.
The bid-snipers came out in the closing minutes, and in the end one user in particular won the auction for a massive £21. Almost half price, it was a whole £19 less than I am paying for the ticket -- but beggars can't be choosers.
Once the auction ended I started emailing the buyer to arrange details for how to pay me and how I would give them their ticket. The buyer turned out to be a young lady named Jools who was very grateful for the ticket and on exchanging numbers to arrange to meet with the ticket on Thursday night, we spent much of Wednesday night having conversations via text.
I wondered if perhaps I wouldn't be seeing the band on my own after all, and although we knew nothing about each other, thought perhaps there could just be the beginnings of something more.
Fast forward to Thursday night: I finish work and walk into the storms ravaging England. Luckily for me the rains had lessened considerably from earlier in the day -- but Jools was apparently not so lucky. I called her when I arrived in Brixton and she told me she'd had to go home to change, as she'd been soaked. But she gave me directions to the bar where we were to meet.
Finding the bar was no problem, but I hesitated before walking in. I was dressed in my old torn jeans, Zero t-shirt and black leather jacket -- through the window of the bar I could see the clientèle in suits. But with the alternative being wait outside in the cold and the rain, I held my head up high, walked in and ordered myself a beer.
Within seconds I was having second thoughts about Jools, when I noticed the bar's rainbow flags. Still, although I don't much go in for the gay scene I know that I can walk into almost any gay bar in London and be certain that unlike a lot of places the staff will be friendly and I won't get any trouble.
I stood at the bar and read my book for an hour before Jools arrived. I was just finishing my second drink when my phone started to ring -- I picked it up and answered, and noticed Jools walking in.
The signs should have been obvious to me sooner -- the fact that she was new to Ebay when she bought the ticket, and confessed to being thrown by setting up a Paypal account, there should have been alarm bells ringing. I wondered if not unlike the bus-stop girl she might be a teenager. What I didn't expect was a 50 year old.
On Wednesday night when we'd been texting she'd made some comment like "I wonder what the crowd will be like?", and I'd replied saying I expected they would be older than the band. She probably smiled to herself about that, at the time (although she's not older than the band).
It turns out Jools had never been to this bar before and didn't know it was a gay bar, but if I had put any thoughts of something more between us out of my head earlier, they now positively dropped and rolled in their hurry to get out.
As it happens, Jools was very good company. She was both very grateful for the ticket and extremely generous (though she could have been more generous and given me the face value), buying me drinks and not even questioning why I was on my own. I'd probably said in the auction's item description I was on my own.
I was introduced to her friends as they arrived -- just as Jay, the nice guy that had sold her the ticket -- who were all of a similar age, but also it seems in their own ways quite successful. Although what she does now, I don't really remember apparently Jools used to be someone very important in the media with a close and long-running professional relationship with a certain radio DJ and television presenter. Maybe this person is in my life not for personal reasons but professional ones?
Looking back, I wish perhaps Jools and her entourage had been a little less generous with the drinks. We didn't bother watching the Cribs who were supporting, and although I lost track how much I drank that night, some rough calculations since then have suggested it was something like 6 or 7 pints, more or less on an empty stomach.
As for the gig itself, we were stood at the absolute very farthest back wall of Brixton Academy. We could see the stage, but I don't think I got a glance of Johnny Rotten all night. The band were good -- very bloody good, consider it's been thirty years since Never mind the Bollocks was released -- and Johnny Rotten remains as funny as ever, in his very strange posh/cockney way. Despite being so good "considering" they weren't amazing. They played their songs well and with passion, but I don't know... It just wasn't spectacular. That said, I never expected the band to be amazing -- they never were, what they were was incredibly influential and a sort of catalyst for the times -- for the whole movement. And I wanted the chance to see the original band playing their own songs -- it's one thing to hear records, to hear live records, to hear bands playing Pistols covers, but it's something else to hear Johnny Rotten singing, right there.
Getting home was naturally a struggle because the Victoria line -- the only Tube line to Brixton -- was closed, and buses were running instead. Jools sent me off after a bus, and the rest of the journey home was a bit of a blur. I got off the bus somewhere around Leicester Square, since I knew the area from when I worked there and sort of stumbled along to Liverpool Street and to the train home. Jon had kindly agreed to pick me up -- even though it was gone 1am by the time I got the station -- and I was barely through the door at home before I was bent over the toilet...
I woke up on Friday with the bedroom light still on. Even when I shifted the worst of the hangover with pain killers, caffeine and sugar the day was not fun.
Still, it's very punk.
Be careful what you wish for
I mentioned in my recent post the idea of attracting people into my life -- whether intentionally or unintentionally, and there was also the issue of not being able to make them do anything. Because even if you could, it's not such a great idea. You'll find ideas like this cropping up in various belief systems -- that you might have more power than you realise, but messing with someone or their free will really is not such a hot idea.
I've always thought you should be careful what you wish for, because you might get them. People disagree with me on this one, and maybe I should think more of crossing those bridges if I come to them -- but either way, it's just how I tend to approach these things.
What could be a case in point. It's no secret that I've wanted someone in my life for however-long now. I've tried the usual things -- placing ads online, meeting girls at punk gigs, all the rest, with very limited success. I have recently been trying to focus my positive thinking in this direction -- whether it's a matter of attracting love to me because I think it, or because I am happy and confident (two words that I have rarely used about myself before, but I am really feeling it a lot more often now) it probably doesn't matter. But as I say, you have to be careful.
I think it was Monday morning I was standing at the bus stop, trying to keep warm -- the usual stamping feet and blowing on hands and hoping the bus turns up this week. I'd noticed when I was walking to the town there had been a teenage girl walking a short distance in front of me, and paid no attention. When I got to the bus stop she arrived shortly after me, because either I'd walked faster or she'd walked a different way at the end. I wasn't paying much attention, just looking idly around at the other people. I saw this blonde girl and my first thought was "She's wearing way too much makeup". Maybe I was looking a little too long, maybe I had a faint, amused smile on my face as I looked at her. But she noticed. I thought I was going to get a "Wot you lookin' at?" sort of response, but instead she said hi to me. Slightly surprised, I said hi back.
The following few days I've seen her again. It turns out she lives over the road to me, I'd never noticed. I didn't realise the girls who lived there were even old enough to go to college. She has progressed in a few days to making a point of saying hi to me when she gets on the bus, walking home and talking away to me in the evening when we get off at the same spot, and last time I saw her actually choosing the seat next to me on the bus. Choosing the seat next to me, and not being content with just a smile and a nod in greeting but wanting me to actually take out my earphones and say hi to her properly. And perhaps even being a little sulky that I was reading my book the whole way home. When we got off the bus she said to me sorry, she hadn't been ignoring me, she could just see I had been reading. Haha, I miss those kinds of head games. In conversation I have established that she's about 17, and despite her attentions says she has a boyfriend. I also know she has been talking about me, because she asked didn't I used to be a policeman.
How she knows this is complicated, but one time Nick was round my house, watching a video when there was a knock at the door. The lady from over the road that I'd never actually spoken to but would smile and wave to in the street explained that she had just reversed into the side of my car. Except it wasn't my car at all, but Nick's car. Nick who had decided parking directly opposite her drive was a sensible thing to do. And so it was in his discussions with her about it all that it must have come up what he did for a living. He's the kind of person that has to tell you, it's a power thing.
So fast forward several years, and for this girl to bring up in conversation that she thought I was a policeman suggests to me that she has talked about meeting me. I didn't hesitate to put her straight that I was not now and never have been a policeman, nor would I want to be. And tried to explain who Nick was.
So, okay -- great, I can attract people to me, I can attract attention to myself. But I need to maybe work on it so it's not from 17 year olds who wear too much makeup and think I'll be impressed if they tell me they want a motorbike. This is what I mean about being careful what you wish for -- the "request", the idea, the thought needs to be more finely tuned.
I've always thought you should be careful what you wish for, because you might get them. People disagree with me on this one, and maybe I should think more of crossing those bridges if I come to them -- but either way, it's just how I tend to approach these things.
What could be a case in point. It's no secret that I've wanted someone in my life for however-long now. I've tried the usual things -- placing ads online, meeting girls at punk gigs, all the rest, with very limited success. I have recently been trying to focus my positive thinking in this direction -- whether it's a matter of attracting love to me because I think it, or because I am happy and confident (two words that I have rarely used about myself before, but I am really feeling it a lot more often now) it probably doesn't matter. But as I say, you have to be careful.
I think it was Monday morning I was standing at the bus stop, trying to keep warm -- the usual stamping feet and blowing on hands and hoping the bus turns up this week. I'd noticed when I was walking to the town there had been a teenage girl walking a short distance in front of me, and paid no attention. When I got to the bus stop she arrived shortly after me, because either I'd walked faster or she'd walked a different way at the end. I wasn't paying much attention, just looking idly around at the other people. I saw this blonde girl and my first thought was "She's wearing way too much makeup". Maybe I was looking a little too long, maybe I had a faint, amused smile on my face as I looked at her. But she noticed. I thought I was going to get a "Wot you lookin' at?" sort of response, but instead she said hi to me. Slightly surprised, I said hi back.
The following few days I've seen her again. It turns out she lives over the road to me, I'd never noticed. I didn't realise the girls who lived there were even old enough to go to college. She has progressed in a few days to making a point of saying hi to me when she gets on the bus, walking home and talking away to me in the evening when we get off at the same spot, and last time I saw her actually choosing the seat next to me on the bus. Choosing the seat next to me, and not being content with just a smile and a nod in greeting but wanting me to actually take out my earphones and say hi to her properly. And perhaps even being a little sulky that I was reading my book the whole way home. When we got off the bus she said to me sorry, she hadn't been ignoring me, she could just see I had been reading. Haha, I miss those kinds of head games. In conversation I have established that she's about 17, and despite her attentions says she has a boyfriend. I also know she has been talking about me, because she asked didn't I used to be a policeman.
How she knows this is complicated, but one time Nick was round my house, watching a video when there was a knock at the door. The lady from over the road that I'd never actually spoken to but would smile and wave to in the street explained that she had just reversed into the side of my car. Except it wasn't my car at all, but Nick's car. Nick who had decided parking directly opposite her drive was a sensible thing to do. And so it was in his discussions with her about it all that it must have come up what he did for a living. He's the kind of person that has to tell you, it's a power thing.
So fast forward several years, and for this girl to bring up in conversation that she thought I was a policeman suggests to me that she has talked about meeting me. I didn't hesitate to put her straight that I was not now and never have been a policeman, nor would I want to be. And tried to explain who Nick was.
So, okay -- great, I can attract people to me, I can attract attention to myself. But I need to maybe work on it so it's not from 17 year olds who wear too much makeup and think I'll be impressed if they tell me they want a motorbike. This is what I mean about being careful what you wish for -- the "request", the idea, the thought needs to be more finely tuned.
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